CHAPTER ONE
 
FRIDAY
 
A man intent on securing his freedom should not be handcuffed to a table in a police station. Riley tugged at the restraints. Stupid. Sucking down that last drink, plain stupid. Last three drinks, actually. No way could he bypass the vehicle substance detector after pounding down four bourbons, but he got in the rental car, and started the ignition without disabling the device. Damn thing activated a blaring alarm, locked him in, and instantly alerted the cops. So here he sat.

Riley gazed around. Police stations looked the same, no matter what city. Walls painted a sickening shade of infected-snot green, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Like it was mandatory to make the room as unpleasant as possible. The smell of piss, burnt coffee, and disinfectant blended to turn his stomach. And this building in Cape Canaveral had the added charm of splotches of mold on the walls, an extra bit of filth distinctive to the high humidity of Florida.

As he tugged the cuffs again, fighting back a nudge of claustrophobia, the door flew open and a woman in black slacks, a white shirt, and a wrinkled grey jacket stalked in, her gaze flipping from the data board in her hands to Riley. She pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table and sat, studied his face intently for ten seconds, then bent her head back to her board.

“Mr. Sanders, you attempted to drive while drunk. Stinking drunk at four o'clock in the afternoon. You shut down the car, let's see, ten seconds after your butt hit the seat. That's a fine of five-hundred dollars or imprisonment.”

“Yes ma'am, I know.” He also knew to be polite to law enforcement. Throw in that title of respect, though the woman wasn't much older than him.

She licked her finger and touched it to the screen to scroll further, an action that triggered a memory from childhood, of a teacher that used that gesture. This cop read paper books and no doubt used that move on her data board when tired or not paying attention. The first one, he guessed, by the dark circles under her eyes.

“Says here you don't have your identification microchip implanted. What happened to it?”

Shit. Exactly what he did not want. Attention called to his do-it-yourself surgery. Should have known they'd detect its absence. He'd cut the damn chip out once before, a few years ago, to see what would happen. Because he worked at a government agency, an alarm shrieked the minute he'd passed through the front door at his office, his attempt at liberty squashed like a bug on a windshield.

“I took it out.”

She raised her head and turned that focused stare back on him. “You took it out?”

“Yes ma'am. It bothered me.”

“Let me see.” She came around the table. “Pull down the top of your pants.”

“Uh...” He lifted his cuffed hands.

She knelt to one knee and lifted the bottom of his shirt.

“Lean to your left, I'm unfastening your pants. One wrong move and you'll be in my jail for a week. The cell with the hungry rats.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a vinyl glove, then opened the fastener on his jeans and gingerly pushed down the waistband, to expose a bandage on his hip. With a quick tug she yanked it away from his skin. He winced, but didn't flinch.

“Christ, what did you use, a rusty butter knife? This will get infected.”

“I'll clean it, put antibiotic on. What's your name?”

“Lieutenant Foster. Why did the chip bother you?”

“It itched. A lieutenant is dealing with a drunk guy?”


“One who comes in without his implant.” She frowned and reapplied the bandage. “They must be using a different plastic.
You're the second person who's been in here, drunk, with your chip cut out. Is the device new?”

“No.” Riley sat up straighter. “Another person took out their hunk of spyware?”
She stood. “Our medic will clean and seal that wound, stick a temporary chip in your other side. Maybe you won't react to it there.”

“Why would you think that?”

She folded her arms and looked down at him. “You may have had an allergic reaction to the plastic. Another area on your body might not respond so aggressively. By aggressively I mean…”

“I understand what that word means. I'm not a DC.”

“Well, since you came in without identification, the only record I have of you is a photo ID I managed to pull up on our slow-as-hell data base. I have no way of knowing what class you are. And since you climbed into a car, drunk, without enough sense to guzzle a can of Buzz Kill, I can only assume you're a Damaged Citizen.”

“I'm an Unchanged Citizen, a security engineer at Frontier Authority. My badge, credit card and Identcard are in the pocket of my jeans. Were in the pocket of my jeans.”

She whipped a phone out of the holster on her side and barked into it. “Simpson. Where is Simpson? Okay, whoever you are, bring me prisoner Riley Sanders's belongings, room three. Yes, now. They should have been here before me.” She smacked the phone down on the table.

“Where are you from?”

“Kansas City.”

“What brings you to Cape Canaveral Florida?”

“I need a vacation.”

“Came here to take a cruise?”

He shrugged. “No. Just want to look at the water. Why did the other person take out their chip?”

The door opened and a young man came in and handed Foster a plastic bag. “Stick around, outside this room. I'll need you for transport in a few minutes.”

The kid, who couldn't be over twenty, nodded his head, an eager smile on his suntanned face. “Sure thing.”

“That's 'yes ma'am.' What the hell are they teaching you in cop training? You want to make it past errand boy on this force?”

“Uh, sorry ma'am. I'm still in the first part of the program. I've only had two classes.”

She shook her head. “Trainees on the floor of my station. Lord help us. Wait outside.”

She dumped the bag on the table, picked up his Identcard, and scanned it over her tablet. Riley almost drummed his fingers, thought better of it, waited silently the three minutes she took to examine his file. The pleasant bourbon buzz had worn off an hour ago, and a headache pressed the back of his skull. He badly wanted a large glass of water, a pain pill, and fresh air.

“So you're an ex-hacker, got sent to prison. Pulled out of jail after The Annihilation, trained in technology skills, working at Frontier Authority. Been keeping your nose clean the six years since then. Why the sudden urge to travel and drink enough booze to light up a substance detector like a Christmas tree?”

He slouched in his chair, trying for nonchalance. “Told you, I needed a vacation.” Hoped she wouldn't look deep into his eyes, see the desperation there.

She scanned her board further. “Your supervisor is looking for you. You took off without giving him notice?”

 “How did you know?” More stupid on his part. Of course she knew. She accessed his email. Cops were all part of the big government hive of information.

“You up and left your post.”

“Yeah, I did, I need a break. I told my boss I'd be back in a few days.”

She crossed her arms. “We all need a break. If everyone left their job whenever they wanted, we'd be in trouble. We have to work for…”

“The betterment of mankind. I'm aware of our national motto.” He laced his fingers together. Don't let her see the anger.

“You could be put back in prison, are you aware of that? I could turn this incident into an arrest. And these.” She took a bottle of pills from the pile of his belongings on the table. “Medulamax. Mighty potent drug. You have issues with pain?”

“Headaches. They're prescription. Doesn't your inquest get you into my medical records too?” Couldn't stop his mouth from shooting off. He tightened his fingers.

“Don't get smart with me. Maybe I'll check, make sure you're current with your doctor visits, give you an extra hoop or two to jump through to get your meds.”

He blew out a breath, tried a charming smile. “Hey, I'm sorry. Had problems with a woman in Kansas City, got me kind of screwed up. I only need a few days down here, to clear my head. I'll report in to work, call my boss, and tell him I'll be back next week. How's that?”

She flipped his card and badge back into the plastic bag. “You'll get on a plane tonight and be back to work on Monday.”

While she tapped her data board, he closed his eyes part way. A little push should get him what he needed. Ignoring the throb that had now moved behind his eyes, he gave a nudge with his mind.

A sudden, piercing shriek tore through the air.

“Damn it.” Foster pulled out her phone and punched the keypad. “What the hell is that? I'm on my way.”

“What's going on? Is there a fire?” He tugged his hands. “You can't leave me chained up here.”

“No, that's the carbon monoxide alarm. It's never gone off, so I'm sure it's a malfunction. I'll be right back.” She dropped her board on the table and hurried from the room.

“Take your time,” Riley muttered, and leaning across the table, put his face flat on the surface.

Almost. He could almost reach it. He rose from his chair and stretched further from his waist, extended an inch farther, one more, till his forehead touched the edge of Lieutenant Foster's board. Nudging it bit by bit, he dragged it back to his hands.

He'd never hacked while handcuffed before. First time for everything.

Fast as his fingers could fly, he dug through the police records. The piercing alarm stopped ringing, but with another push of his mind, he set it off again. He needed more time. Foster didn't see him as a high-risk threat and no doubt trusted the security of his restraints, but she wouldn't leave him alone much longer. There. The other person who had come to Cape Canaveral and cut out their chip. Danika Williams.

The alarm stopped again. He scanned Danika's info, memorized her phone number, set the screen to its earlier position, and slid the board back across the table as the door opened and Foster strode in. 

“I don't have time for you tonight.” She picked up her tablet, danced her fingers across it. “Simpson!” She leaned out door and around the corner.

“Simpson's not here. I'm…”

“Whoever you are, take this man to medical for a temporary chip and an injection of Buzz Kill. I've ordered his implant. Make sure he gets the correct one.” She held her palm up. “Give me your board. I'll transfer his data from mine. Mr. Sanders, I trust you'll have a permanent chip implanted as soon as you return home from your vacation. Which will be tomorrow.”

Riley bit back the response he wanted to let loose. Nothing good came from antagonizing cops. “Yes. I'll leave tonight.”

Apparently satisfied she saw truth in his eyes, she gave the rookie cop back his device. “Tell medical to send him to out-processing when they're done. Here are his things.” She handed the bag to the young man, then turned to Riley. “Don't let me find you drunk in Cape Canaveral again.”
 
****
 
He'd wait to take out this temporary chip, Riley decided, rubbing his hip. So far, it wasn't sending those sharp blasts of pain down his leg, like his original one did, the minute he'd stepped out of his car in Cape Canaveral earlier in the day. He'd fought past the agony, checked into a hotel, swallowed an extra pain pill, then had driven to the nearest drugstore and bought rubbing alcohol and bandages. Biting a washcloth, he used his knife and cut till he found the implant. Deeper than he remembered from the first time he'd performed self-chip removal. As soon as he yanked the device out, the pain stopped.

At least that particular searing ache. Sharp edges of iron spikes still poked at his skull, as they'd done for two years. The reason he took a potent painkiller, and one of the reasons he needed to find answers.

Right now, he needed his car and per the officer at out-processing, he could pick it up in the police station garage. He walked around to the back of the cop building.

“Sanders, Riley Sanders,” he yelled to the attendant. The speaker hole in the bullet-proof plastic wouldn't carry his voice in a normal tone. “You've got my rental car.”
The woman in the booth chomped her gum, punched her keyboard and stared at a screen. “Yep, there it is. I'll have someone bring it around. That will be five-hundred dollars fine plus fifty dollars for the impound fee.”

“Impound fee? The police are charging an impound fee?”

“One of our officers took his valuable time to drive your vehicle back here. Tax money barely pays our salaries. Be glad you weren't arrested. Bail is a lot more than five-hundred fifty dollars, you know.” She blew a bubble, sucked it back in, tapped more keys. “How will you be paying?”

Riley slapped his credit card on the moving metal tray device, and the officer pulled it in. “Take a seat.” She pointed to a wooden bench.

Resisting the urge to punch the wall, the plastic window, anything, he paced the patch of concrete around the bench instead. She was right. He should be glad they hadn't charged and held him. He made decent money, had more stashed, but didn't need to throw it away on tickets and lawyers.

Didn't need to drink so much either, but he did. Ever since The Annihilation six years ago, since a quarantine was smacked down on the whole country, alcohol became his best friend. Then, even more, after his mind suddenly developed an extra skill two years ago, and headaches made it impossible to function without pain meds during the day and booze at night.

Back home, he took a shuttle or walked if he left his house to drink, but preferred to stay in the house with his whiskey. Why he stopped at a bar here and drank so much… sheer stupidity. He should've stuck with his mission, his reason for coming to Florida. Driven straight to the marina as soon as he got to town, found that boat, Siren of the Sea.

He'd wanted to scope out the area more, get a feel for the place. And sitting on the deck of that bar, the wind playing across his skin, listening to other tourists laugh, he'd let himself relax. He'd enjoyed the fruity specialty drinks the cute server with the tight ass insisted he try, and one drink led to another, which eventually, led to the inside of the jail.

Nervous energy somewhat sated, he sat, took a deep breath, and let his head fall back. In his travels, Riley had spent some time in Florida. Hotter than hell in summer, he remembered. Now, in April, the night air rolled over him, teasing with a hint of ocean salt, lowering the temperature, and making him want to go back to that bar and stare at the ocean. And the server's rear end. 

Cape Canaveral was a medium-sized tourist town, not ruined with horrendous traffic, but with enough amenities to keep its many visitors busy. The beach, for those wanting to veg out, a tour of the non-functioning space center, for anyone interested in history, plenty of restaurants and bars to eat and drink the time away.

 Not one of the ultra-luxury seaside spots in the country, but visited by plenty of Unchanged and Damaged Citizens on vacation, and the nearest beach town to the big amusement parks in the middle of the state. There were plenty of moderately priced hotels and motels, including the one he'd checked into.

Where he should go now. Head to the fitness room, hit the sauna, pump and sweat that shitty Buzz Kill out of his body. Wait till daylight, visit the marina then.

What he shouldn't do was hunt down Danika Williams.

“Mr. Sanders, your car is here.” The attendant officer motioned him over.
He signed the required forms, retrieved his credit card and keys, slid behind the wheel and pulled out his phone. Calling Danika tonight would be a bad idea. Really bad.

She answered on the third ring. “Hello?” Noise in the background.

“Danika Williams?”

“That's me. Who's this?”

“My name's Riley. I understand you pulled out your microchip implant.”

Silence.

“Did it send shooting pain down your leg when you got here?”

“How did you find that out?”

“Cops got me, I heard from them.”

“Those morons, they're not supposed to give out personal information. Who are you?”

“They didn't give it out, I took it. I'm just a guy, nobody special. My chip burned too. Felt like a hot coal in my hip. I dug mine out. Are you still in Cape Canaveral?”

More silence and he thought she'd hung up.

“Yeah.”

“How about we meet, talk for a few minutes?”

“Where are you?”

“At the cop station.”

“Perfect. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

“No, I'm getting out of here right now. I'll come to you.”

The background noise faded. “I'm at a bar. I don't meet with men I don't know at bars.”

“We'll stay out in public. I'm not up to anything, I promise.”

Hard to pick up much from her voice on the phone, but he sensed curiosity tinged with caution.

“All right. I'm at the Green Lizard. On A1A.”

“I'll be there soon. What are you wearing?”

“Same thing everybody else is. A tank top with a palm tree, blue shorts, and flip flops. You?”

“Jeans and a t-shirt. I'm tall. Look for me to come in.”

He plugged the Green Lizard into his phone, set it to give him directions, and took off.

Probably nothing would come of meeting this woman. Some defect in the chip material likely caused that searing pain. Why it started when he got to this town... Maybe the salt air reacted somehow. But his instincts, the ones that kept him one step ahead of trouble for so many years, suggested there was more. Told him to find Danika.

So he listened.

The Green Lizard looked like most of the other watering holes in the area. Painted with palm trees and a wave on the outside to enhance the tropical ambiance, a few pictures and knick-knacks slapped on the interior walls to continue the theme. A live three-piece band played blues music, and many patrons sat outside on the deck to enjoy the ocean view, get away from the music and chat, or to smoke.

The faint aroma of pot reached his nose, and he thought of trying to score a joint and taking a few hits. Florida passed marijuana laws years ago, and the medicinal strains worked great to dull the pain in his head to a tolerable level. He couldn't risk bringing the herb into Missouri, however, where it was still illegal. And his workplace, Frontier Authority, frowned on their employees taking non-prescription drugs. The Medulamax, however, the medication his doctor prescribed that slowly destroyed his liver, was considered perfectly acceptable to pop like candy.

He sat at the bar and ordered a bottle of water. Not going to make the same mistake twice. At least not in one night.

A petite woman with her hair in a messy bun tapped his arm. “You Riley?”

“Yes. You Danika?”

“Yep.”

He rose. “Let's go outside and talk.”

“You sure are tall.” She looked him up and down, her expression neutral.

He bit back the first comment that came to mind. She didn't want to hear that she was short. And cute. From her tone during their phone conversation, he suspected Danika wasn't the kind of woman who liked to be considered 'cute'. But anyone with freckles on their nose, no matter how faint, fell into that category in his book.

They walked outside and found a table at the edge of the deck. She set her plastic cup, filled with an amber-colored drink, in front of her.

“So what do you want to talk about? And how did you get my info from the cops?”

“I hacked into their system. They didn't give it to me willingly, don't worry. You're visiting Cape Canaveral, right?”

“Yeah, taking vacation. You?”

“Same thing. Felt like looking at the ocean. Why did you cut out your chip? Did it bother you when you came here?”

She twirled her straw in the cup. “Why do want to know?”

Of course she wasn't going to spill her information first. Why should she trust a total stranger? But he wouldn't give up his whole story either. “My implant sent this pain down my leg when I got here. Bad pain. I needed to get it out, so I got a knife and cut. You?”

“Same thing.”

“I guess, I want to learn more about you. See if…” He stopped, took a long pull of his water.

“See if what?” She cocked her head and studied him, her eyes narrowed. Green eyes, catching the reflection from the lights that hung in strands on the ceiling of the deck, and shooting a glint of fire at him.

“See if you've experienced any other problems.”

“With my microchip?”

“No, with… forget it.” He drained his bottle, then stood.

Bad idea. Neither of them wanted to share their stories, to take a chance.

“Wait.” That curiosity and caution, battling each other, radiating from her. She put a hand on his arm and leaned in. “What do you mean, other problems?”

“Do you drink a lot of alcohol? I'm guessing you do.”

“Because?”

“You sucked down that drink in no time flat, you were drunk at the cop station. And your eyes.”

“What's the matter with my eyes?” She shot the words like a bullet, but didn't take her hand off his arm.

“Your eyes look identical to what I see in the mirror every day.”

Removing her hand, she leaned back. “Yeah, I've got a weird problem. Tell me yours first.”

The last thing he wanted to do was share his secret with Danika. But if she was the same as him, he needed to find out.
“Turn around. Watch inside the bar.”

With a small push, the lights flickered, went out, came back on.

She turned back and faced him. “What? You did that? With the lights?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I don't know how. Two years ago, four years after The Annihilation, it started. I can manipulate electrical and other kinds of circuits. Now show me yours.”

She chewed on her bottom lip and shifted her gaze. “You don't tell anyone about your… thing, do you?”

“Nope.”

Her eyes focused back and met his. “You won't tell anyone about mine? Because if you do, I'll hurt you. I swear.”

“No, hell no. I'm taking a big chance even talking to you. No one on this Earth knows about my shit.”

“And no one knows mine.  Let's keep it that way.” She looked around the patio. “See that guy over there? Laughing all over the place? He's been bugging those women since I got here. They're giving him dirty looks, turning their backs to him, but he's not taking the hint. No more open tables, so they can't move. I think it's time for him to leave.”

The women's body language supported Danika's assessment. The man didn't appear welcome. As Riley watched, the guy slid off the stool he'd been leaning against and landed in a heap on the ground. Now the women laughed, as he jumped up, stood, and then toppled over again.

“I take it you're affecting him some way.”

“Yep. I can make people's muscles go weak. Just for a second or two. Same as you, started in 2024.”

Riley watched as the man brushed off his pants, then spun around and left. The women, still laughing, raised their cups in a toast.

“That's pretty…”

“Weird? Bizarre?”

“No, more like impressive. Can you do it harder? Cause serious damage?”

 “Yes.” She angled her body away from his to gaze out at the water.

So she didn't want to talk about that part. He should drop it. He sure didn't want her prying into all his business. “Do you get headaches? Is that why you drink?”

“I get a few headaches, not bad. I've got a way to stop them. The drinking? I can't sleep unless I do. You?”

“Same. Except the headaches are bad. I take Medulamax for those.”

“That shit will kill you.”

“I'm aware of that. It's why I'm trying to figure out what happened, why I got like this.”

“Do you think it has to do with the Malik virus?” She turned slightly, more curious now, less caution.

In 2020, a group who was never identified or caught, deposited a substance containing a virus into the United States' water supply, which killed and damaged masses of people. The Annihilation, they called the event, and named the virus after the scientist who first identified the infection the terrorists inflicted on the country.

He shrugged. “I've read a lot about the virus. But why did it take four years after those fucking bastards dumped poison into our water, for us to develop this power?”

Her turn to shrug. “You got me. Have you run into anyone else like us?”

“No.”

“Kind of weird we're both here, in Cape Canaveral, at the same time.” She turned fully to face him.

“Yeah. One of those serendipity things. Or synchronicity. I always forget which one.” He tipped his water bottle, avoiding her gaze. Over the years, he'd got to be a proficient liar, but this woman seemed to have a sense about her. As if she could pick up any bullshit he'd lay out. “How'd you end up in the police station?”

“Drunk driving. Stupid rental cars, got their substance detectors set to something way low. You?”

“Same thing.”

“You couldn't, like, do that trick with your mind to mess with it? Short the circuits or something?”

“I didn't even think about it. Got cocky, told myself I wasn't drunk. I rarely drive when I drink.”

“Me neither. That's why I'm at this dive bar, so I can walk to my motel. So, what are your plans? You got any ideas how to figure out what happened to you?”

“I'm working on a couple of theories. You?”

“Yeah, me too.”

They both turned to face the water. He sure the fuck would not tell her his real reason for being in Cape Canaveral, not until he got more info on her. Doubtful she'd share any of her theories either. The look in her eyes didn't spell trust.

“Maybe we should stay in touch. In case we come up with anything.”

“Sounds good. You've got my number, I've got yours. You heading out now?”

“Think I'll hang for one more drink, since I'm using my feet to get around.”

 He slid off the stool, and she rose also, bumping into him. A flash of heat formed where their bodies touched, and she backed away quickly.

“Whoa. Sorry. Guess I've had a few tonight.” She gave him a crooked grin.

“Be careful. Stay out of trouble.”

“You too.”
Out in the parking lot, Riley started his car and sat for a minute. Part of him wanted to hear Danika's story and wanted to tell her more about his. Wanted to ask her about the boat. She had to be here because of that.

But what if she wasn't? What if she was just on vacation? Anyway, if he mentioned his plan, she'd want to get involved. She put out this cynical attitude, but that spark of curiosity burned strong, along with a flare of mischief. A stubborn woman who went after what she wanted. Kind of like him.

But he had to talk to her, at some point. To have found another person with an abnormal power was intriguing. He suspected, as soon as he realized he'd changed, that there might be others. Couldn't post a notice on the Internet though, trying to find them. He would not call attention to himself.

His phone buzzed. Danika.

“Hey, you left your wallet in here.”

He grabbed at his back pocket. Son of a bitch. This trip could turn into a major pain in the ass if he had to replace his ID. He jogged back into the bar and looked around. No Danika, inside or out. He flagged down the bartender.

“You see a cute woman in here, short, hair up on her head?”

“You Riley? She told me to give this to you.” The bartender passed his wallet. “Said she had to go.”

Great. Most likely, she lifted his cash and ran. No big deal, as long as she took nothing else. He waited till he was back in his car to look inside the wallet. Credit cards, small amount of cash, Identcard; everything still there. What do you know? A few honest people still existed. How the hell it fell out of his pocket, he had no idea.

Now, he should go to his hotel. Start out fresh in the morning. Check out the boat, then get out of town like Foster told him to. But the Hidden Bay Marina wasn't far away. He'd head over there, scope out the place. Even if he couldn't find Siren of the Sea, he'd get the layout.

Which was a load of crap. The marina wasn't that big, according to their website. He wanted to see the boat that he'd read about, meet the guy from the news story. Though he hadn't planned on visiting him at night, coming at him in the dark. Guy would most likely tell him to get lost.

But his instinct drove him, told him to go now.

Address punched into his phone, Riley followed the directions and in ten minutes arrived at Hidden Bay. The marina appeared to do good business. Most of the slips were full. Lighting was adequate, and the place was quiet, the only sound a low hum of traffic from a nearby road, and water slapping on the dock. A man prowling up and down the walkways would be noticed. No doubt there were people living on many of the boats.

“Are we at the marina?”

“Fucking shit!” Riley whirled to look in the back seat, smacking his elbow on the steering wheel. Danika crouched on the floor, her slight body hidden in the shadows. “What the hell are you doing in my car?”

“Tagging along. To find out where you're going.” She rose and perched on the back seat. “You're here for that boat, aren't you? Siren of the Sea?”

“I am. What do you know about it?”

“Probably same thing as you. But you go first.”

“Uh-uh. I went first last time. You.” Aware he sounded like an eight year old, Riley crossed his arms.

“Okay fine.”

“And come up here so I can see you. Did you take my wallet back at the bar?”

She scrambled into the front seat and plunked next to him. “I did. Sorry. Had to get you distracted to get into your car. Okay. The boat. I keep track of weird news stories that might be about people like me. Like us. People with strange power. Most of the time, there's nothing to them. You do the same thing, right?”

“I do.”

“You must have picked up that story, guy says he saw light dancing in the water and sparks coming from some dude's boat out in the ocean. Cops come to investigate, they chalk it up to bioluminescence and since the boat hasn't burned down, figured the witness ate a few mushrooms or swallowed some chemicals.”

Riley uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on the steering wheel. “What made you zero in on that particular story?”

“A hunch. Instinct. The guy who owned the boat wouldn't give his name, didn't want anyone to know about him. Most people are media whore and will do anything to get noticed.”

“And you picked out the boat, in the background of the picture. The news story didn't give a name or an exact location.”

“Yep. I tracked it to this marina. Wasn't real sure what I would do when I got here. Just talk to the owner, I guess. What's your plan?”

Son of a bitch. The goofy girl had the same idea he did. “No plan. I'm winging it too. But I'm winging it alone. Tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Because it's dark and we're both likely to land in lock-up again if we get caught prowling around boat slips at ten o'clock at night.”

“I have good vision. I could find the vessel, no problem.”

“You're hammered.”

“Am not. I snagged a can of Buzz Kill at the bar. I can find the boat.”

“No.”
“No? I don't recall asking for your permission.” She fumbled on the door for the handle.

Riley clicked the locks shut. “What are you going to say, if you find anyone on the boat? Ask the man or whoever owns it, if they made the water light up? Since this person didn't want to talk to the police or the press, I doubt he'll want to talk to you. Especially since you smell like a drunk.”

“I do not.” She put her palms in front of her face and breathed. “Much. I'll eat a cough drop. Anyway, what's your great idea for tomorrow? You said you didn't have a plan. Maybe it's better if we sneak up on him, confront him when he's not expecting it.”

“Somehow, I don't think that will end well. We'll give it a rest tonight, then we can both talk to the guy tomorrow.”

“Together?”

“Yes, together.”

She gnawed on her bottom lip and drummed her fingers on her leg. “Not a chance.”

Before he could stop her, she unlocked the door, tumbled out, and took off.

“Damn it, get back here.” He wrenched his own door open and chased after her.
Shit, she moved fast for a pint-size girl. He caught her at the beginning of a walkway and grabbed her arm. “This is not a good plan.”

“I know where the boat is. Let go of me.”

“You know where Siren of the Sea is docked?”

“I came here earlier and found it.”

“Why didn't you tell me? No, forget it. Doesn't matter. Let's go and come back in daylight.”

She snatched her arm out of his grip. “I'm going now. You come with me or not.”

Gritting his teeth, Riley followed as she marched forward. Stubborn woman would get herself in trouble and much as he wanted to avoid more shit, he needed answers. If she screwed this up, he'd never find them.

“Here.” She stopped. “This is it. Looks dark. No, wait, light is coming from below, around the curtains?”

Riley walked the length of the boat. Sure enough, Siren of the Sea was painted on the side.

“Hello. Anyone home?” Danika called out.

“Keep it down.” He stepped a foot on the boat and knocked on the side. “Hello. Permission to come aboard.”

Nothing.

“Let's take a peek.” Danika jumped onto the craft.

“Get off of there.”

“Come on. I hear something in the lower cabin. We should check it out.”

“No, we shouldn't,” he hissed, but she already found the door leading below and opened it. A second later, light spilled from the cabin.

“Oh hell. We've got a problem.” Her voice wavered, and she stood stock still in the doorway.

Riley moved all the way onto the deck behind Danika and looked over her shoulder into the interior of the lower cabin. “What?”
“I think there's a dead body down there.”

He moved past her and stopped when he saw a figure on the floor. Judging by the skewed angle of the arms and legs, the pool of red liquid, and the smell of piss and shit, Riley had to agree with her assessment.

“We should, uh, make sure he's dead, right? In case he's not and needs help.” Danika edged closer to Riley. “I'll check. I've got medical experience. Unless, you really want to.”

Not waiting for an answer, she started forward.

“Wait. Here.” He whipped off his shirt. “Use this on the railing, whatever else you have to touch. Don't leave prints.”

She grabbed the shirt and gripping the railing with it, scooted by him and walked down the steps. She picked her way to the body, stepping around the blood, then squatted, touched the man's neck and tipped his head.

“He's a goner. Back of his skull is smashed. We should check out the rest of the place.”

“We should get the hell out of here before someone comes.” But he joined her, crouching low and tilting the man's head to view the wound himself. Yeah, he was a goner. No one walked away with a wound like that. Riley stood and looked around the cabin.

Not much room, but enough for a person to live in relative comfort, he supposed. The spot where they stood contained a built-in desk, couch, and table. Further was a kitchen, and beyond that, a door stood open to a bedroom. All areas were neat and clean, everything in its place. Except on the desk and in the corner, a small folding table, which held tools, wires, and several diagrams. A work area that didn't get tidied up at the end of the day. Riley scanned the papers. Looked like schematics for an electrical device.

He walked to the kitchen, grabbed a dishtowel from the side of the sink, and opened cabinets. There, a pair of rubber dish gloves. Bulky, but they'd do.

“I'll search the bedroom and the desk, you take a quick look around the rest of the place. A quick look. Don't touch anything. I got a bad feeling about this.”

“Well, duh. So do I. There's a stiff on the floor.” But under her sarcastic words, Riley picked up fear. “Do you think someone killed him?”

“Looks like it. It's possible he fell, hit his head. But that amount of damage to his skull… pretty sure someone whacked him.”

They should go. They had no business being here and didn't need to get involved in whatever shit this guy was into.
Except the guy had answers. And fucking intuition told him to dig.

He slid on the gloves, went to the bedroom and poked through a small closet. Nice clothes hung inside, like the dude was wearing now. Linen pants, stylish shirts. Expensive. Bed sheets, the same. From his brief glance, Egyptian cotton. The man enjoyed quality stuff.

Riley went back to the main area, moved aside a laptop computer, then picked through the jumble of paperwork on the desk. A receipt from an air-conditioned storage unit, a dry cleaner, a pricey restaurant, a movie ticket stub. He tugged on a drawer.
Locked. It didn't appear that sturdy; a screwdriver could pry it open.

Or not. They should get off the boat, call the cops, from someone else's phone. He didn't want to give the police any more reason to detain him in Cape Canaveral. Spying a metal letter opener, he shoved it into the top of the drawer and pushed. It opened easily, and he dug through the contents. Nothing much. A hundred dollars in cash, what appeared to be a pricey watch, the title to the boat, and a checkbook. He flipped through it. A balance of two-thousand and some odd dollars. Guy lived simple, it looked like. Nothing jumped out as bizarre.

​“Hey, Charlie, you okay? We missed you at poker tonight. Can't reach you on the phone.” The voice carried from outside, muffled, as though the man was trying to be quiet, but talk loud enough to be heard through a closed door.
Well, shit.

 
CHAPTER TWO
 
Danika froze at the voice coming from outside the cabin. She glanced to Riley, and he motioned for her to come close. She stepped near him, but tugged away when he pulled her closer.

“Stop. Don't grab me like that.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“I am. What?”

“Yell out for him to call an ambulance, and to go wait for them at the parking lot entrance,” Riley whispered. “Tell him you're Charlie's friend, that he fell and hurt himself. Don't let him see your face.”

She nodded and moved to the doorway. “Hey there. I'm a friend of Charlie. He fell and he's hurt. Please call an ambulance. My phone is dead.”

“Is he hurt badly?” The boat rocked as the man boarded. “Can you use Charlie's phone?”

“I can't find it. I think his leg is broke. Please, just call them now. And go wait for them in the parking lot.” Injecting a note of panic wasn't difficult.

“My phone is on my boat. Hold on, I'll call, be right back.” More rocking, and the sound of footsteps receding.

“Can you give that guy a push of your magic?”

“What do you mean?”

“A little nudge. A leg cramp, or something that will slow him up. We need to vacate the area and I don't want him to see our faces.”

“I guess.” She climbed the stairs and watched the man hurrying along the walkway. He looked older. Not like a guy that could handle a fall. A drop of sweat rolled down her back. She could do it. Just a light push, like she'd done to the guy at the bar earlier, but gentler. No big deal.

Except at the bar, her heart hadn't been pounding a mile a minute. She'd been in control, not scared, not looking at a corpse with a bashed-in head.

“You got that covered? Come on, we need to get out of here.”

“Yeah. Okay, I got it.”

Taking a deep breath, she focused on the man's leg. Easy, like a squeeze with her hand. Not too hard.

“Ouch!” The guy stopped, bent to rub his calf, and then continued to walk.

Another push, a little harder.

He stopped again and stayed bent over longer this time before he resumed his walk, limping.

Enough. He moved slower, and that would have to do. She wouldn't risk more.

Riley scooped up the laptop from the desk. “Hold this.” He shoved it at Danika, then knelt.

“Sorry, Charlie.” He patted down the body, fished a phone out of the man's pocket, then rose.

“Let's go.” They hurried up the stairs. “Wipe anything you touched out here. Quick.”

She swiped his shirt over a rail, wiped the door and rubbed the knob. “That should be it.”

They stepped off the boat and jogged to his car. Once inside, he didn't turn on the headlights until they'd cleared the parking lot. He drove till they came to a gas station, where he pulled in and parked in a dim corner.

What in the high holy hell just happened? Danika let out a long, shaky breath. She touched a dead body, then stole the departed dude's laptop and phone. Well technically, this weird guy she'd joined up with did the stealing. Cops wouldn't care, if they caught her, though. She was right there.

“That guy that came on the boat, he'll call the police, right?”

“He said he'd call an ambulance. They'll notify the cops.”

“Maybe we should call. In case he doesn't. He might change his mind.”

Riley stared out the window, but turned to face her. In the low light, she could barely make out his expression, but when he spoke, his voice carried a tone of anger.

“He's dead. There's nothing we can do for him now.”

“I know. But it doesn't feel right, leaving him there, taking his stuff.”

“It will feel even worse if we have to deal with the cops again. And it won't help Charlie.”

“But we'll look through his laptop, right? If we find anything, about who killed him, we'll contact the police.”
Riley twisted back to face the front of the car again. “Sure we will.”

“What do we do now?”

“Give me my shirt, first of all.”

“Oh, sorry.” She handed it to him, watched him shrug into it. She'd caught a glimpse of his torso on the boat, but had been too distracted to pay much attention. Now she looked. Riley had a nice top half. Toned, not excessively muscled, just enough to give him definition. Pale, so he didn't take advantage of the Safe Beds to tan in the winter.

“Now, I take you back to your motel, I'll go to mine, see if anything on Charlie's computer or phone relates to us, and our talents. Then drop both items off at the marina office tomorrow, anonymously, and get out of town.”

“You think you can get into his computer?”

“Pretty sure I can.”

“And you'll share whatever you come up with? Promise?”

“I promise. Don't give me that look.”

“What?”

“Like I'm lying to you.”

“I don't even know you, so yeah, there is the possibility I might never hear from you again. How about I come with you while you dig around on that laptop? Hey, is that part of your 'talent'? You can get into computers and stuff?”

“No, special computer skills are part of my past life.”

“So we go to my motel, you dig in, share with me now. You have to drop me off, anyway.”

He tapped his finger on the steering wheel. Planning ways to blow her off, no doubt. Not going to happen. If there was an answer buried in Charlie's computer, to why she'd turned into a monster, she needed to find out as much as he did.

“All right, we'll hang at your place. Tell me how to get there.”

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived.

“Come on in, let me tidy up.” She flicked the light, dropped her purse on the counter in the kitchenette, swept up a wine bottle and an empty bag of chips, and dumped them in the trash can. “You can set up there, at the work station table. I'll be right back.”

In the bathroom, she straightened up the sink, putting her toiletries in order. Didn't want the guy to think she lived like a total slob. The rest of the suite wasn't too messy. Bed made, most of her clothes tucked into drawers. She scooped a pair of shorts off the floor and stashed them in a drawer.

“Nice room.” Riley looked around.

“It's not bad. I always splurge, get a suite, to have a fridge and microwave, so I can cook food when I travel. This place even has a two-burner stove, see? Where are you staying?”

“Not far from here.”

She almost pushed but stopped. Fine. He didn't want to share. If she absolutely wanted to know, she'd lift his wallet again, check out his hotel key card or find a receipt.

He sat down at the work station, flipped open Charlie's laptop, and tapped keys. She flitted around the room picking up a book, a paper map and a pair of flip flops, and took them to the bedroom area. What she really wanted to do was go for a run, burn off this nervous energy.

Lord knows, she'd seen plenty of casualties in the last six years. Since The Annihilation, hundreds of thousands of Americans had died. Thousands more were left with brain impairment, and became known as Damaged Citizens, or DCs. Danika had cried at many funerals, but had not experienced death up close like this.

Murder. What had Charlie been up to, to get himself killed? Did it have to do with their odd power? Unable to hold still, she wandered to where Riley sat.

“How are you doing?” Leaning over his shoulder, she peered at the computer screen.

“I barely started.” His fingers didn't move from the keyboard. “This could take a while and I don't like people breathing down my neck. Find something to do besides watch me. Here.” He handed her Charlie's phone, hardly taking his gaze off the display.

“Write down the last numbers he called, and any contacts.”

Danika took the phone. “Who made you boss of this operation?”

“I just did, since I'm the one who knows how to hack a computer. Look.” He stopped typing and glanced up at her. “Do whatever you want. I'm just saying, we should pull numbers off his phone. If you don't have any other pressing engagements, do that now. Or not, I'll do it later.”

“Fine. I'll get on it.” She tossed him a salute. “I've got Wi-Fi here and can hunt up a good music station, play it through my data board. Want to listen to some tunes while we work?”

“No.”

With an eye roll in his direction, she took a paper notepad and her data board from a drawer. Settling in on the couch, she plugged in her earbuds and got to work.

Fifteen minutes later, Riley let out a whoop, loud enough to make her look up from her list. “Got it! I'm in. Now, let's see what you've been up to, Charlie.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You got any bottles of water here?”

“Sure. Sorry, should've offered sooner. I'm not used to entertaining guests in my…” She trailed off.

“What?”

“My motel room.”

“Nice to know.” His tone held laughter, the mocking kind.

She hurried into the kitchen, not wanting him to see the pink she knew colored her cheeks. Water would be good. Help clear her head. She should guzzle some too. Not crack open a fresh bottle of wine.

“Here.” She tossed the container, and he caught it with one hand.

“Thanks.”

She took a swig of water from her half-empty bottle on the counter, then picked up a fresh bottle of wine and twisted the top. He glanced up at the sound of the liquid pouring into a glass, but said nothing.

“What's next?”

“I dig through Charlie's files, see what looks interesting.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small container, shook out a pill and swallowed it. The smooth motion told her he'd made that move countless times.

“Headache?”

“Yeah. Coming on.”

“Here, let me try something.”

Stopping headaches was one of her specialties. She stood behind him, put her palms on his neck and pressed her thumbs into
points on the bottom of his skull.

Crap. What was this? The feel of his hot skin almost made her yank her hands away. She shouldn't be having this fierce reaction. She had contact with people all the time. But when she touched people at work, gloves covered her hands. And her patients didn't project this energy like Riley was sending, running up her arms, making her blood steam.

Don't freak out. Stay in control. He's just a guy. Nobody special.

She shifted her legs, settling into a balanced stance. “Relax. It won't hurt.”

“I've heard that before.” But his muscles released slightly under her fingertips.

“I'm putting pressure on your occipital ridge, like this. Breathe slow and deep.”

He complied for several moments. A scent of pine reached her, reminding her of a forest she'd visited in Maine last year. Crisp, clean, it filled her with a raw wildness that had made her lift her arms and yell out to the sky, wanting to fly.

“Now this.” She took one hand away from his head and picked up his hand, then squeezed the fleshy pad between his thumb and index finger. The feel of his skin on hers no longer made her pulse pound so madly, and they held the position for several breaths. Must be that power thing they shared, affecting her this way.

She eased both hands away. “Better?”

He rolled his neck. “I'll be damned. It is better. What did you do?”
“Voodoo. No. Kidding. I'm a massage therapist. Used to be a massage therapist. It's a technique I was working on for headache relief. Until, you know, The Annihilation.”

“What do you do now?” His eyes looked better, she thought. Not so tight.

“I'm a physical therapist. Got sent to school since my intelligence test scores registered pretty high, and I work at an aging care facility, Spectrum.”

“You don't enjoy being a physical therapist?”

“It's okay. Not what I wanted to do. I liked doing massage. I had my own business, a great clientele, cute little studio to work out of. Guess I'm lucky I get to stay in my profession, sort of. Lots of people didn't.” She wandered over to the counter and tipped her wine glass.

A real wine glass. Whenever she traveled, she packed her own. Drinking wine out of a plastic cup made it taste like crap, and after watching a few hidden videos showing what housekeepers did while cleaning, she swore her lips would never touch a motel bathroom glass again.

“How about you? What about these 'special computer skills' and your past life?”

“It's a long story.”

“I've got time.”

“I don't. I need to get this figured out quick. Cops told me to get out of town. And you? Did you have the pleasure of dealing with Lieutenant Foster at the police station?”

“Sure did. Yeah, she strongly suggested I leave Cape Canaveral too. I gave her the whole repentant routine, promised to keep my nose clean while I was down here. She still made me get a temporary chip. Do you hack for good or for evil?”

“Neither, anymore.” He bent back over the laptop.

Riley didn't want to talk about his life before The Annihilation. Lots of people didn't. The mandatory psychotherapists all the Unchanged Citizens were supposed to visit, dished out a standard line of crap. This is the way life is now. Adjust and be happy. They were the chosen ones and needed to do everything in their power for the betterment of mankind.

Little did those headshrinkers know, there were some out there, more chosen than others.

Since her power had kicked in two years ago, Danika suspected there were people, besides her, who'd developed special gifts after The Annihilation. She badly wanted to sit with Riley and pick his brain, but skittish as he acted, she wouldn't get far. At least not now. Sooner or later, they'd talk. He had to be just as curious as she was, to find another person with, what did he call it? Talents. Yeah, she liked that word.

“I'm still going on this. How about you? Anything interesting on that phone?”

“It's either new, or a burner, or Charlie was a loner. Not much on here, so I'll be done soon.”

They worked in silence for another twenty minutes. When Danika looked up, Riley had one hand on the back of his neck, the other on the keyboard. Instinct made her want to ask if he was okay, to jump up and loosen his muscles again. But she stayed put. Guys didn't like to show weakness.

“Whatcha got so far?”

“I found his journal, starting from two years ago. He's figured out he can manipulate fire. Charlie's a scientist, was a scientist, so he started doing experiments and research. He believes The Annihilation changed his DNA and thinks there are others like him out there. He designed a machine to produce a current, to ping the microchips of anyone with the same blood chemistry as him.”

“That's heavy stuff.” She rose and stood behind Riley and leaned onto the table with her forearms to view his screen. Caught the scent of pine forest again and backed away. “Did his machine work?”

“He didn't say, but from what we both felt, I'm guessing it did. The last entry is yesterday. I skipped down to that spot. He'd been running the device non-stop. That must be why we felt that pain from our chips as soon as we got here in town.”

“Where is the machine?”

“He kept it with him, on his boat. Here's a picture of it.” Riley tapped a few keys. “He calls it Firefinder. I didn't see this anywhere on his boat, and I broke open a locked drawer. Did you see it?”

“No. But it might have been tucked away. We didn't have time to really search the whole place.” She studied the photo. “What the heck is that?”

Riley gave a snort of impatience. “Come on. You've never seen this before? Look close. It's an old transistor radio. Or at least the shell of one. Looks like he hollowed out the insides and turned it into his machine.”

Danika leaned in closer. It looked like a square black box, about the size of a small shoe, with two dials and an antenna. She had seen one before, in an old movie.

“Whoever killed him most likely took it with them.”

“You're sure he didn't fall and hit his head.” She didn't ask as a question, said it like it was fact. Because that's what she thought too.

“Pretty damn sure. No blood on the surfaces of his boat and I saw that wound. Too traumatic to have been caused by a fall. We've got to track this thing down.” Riley tapped a finger on the workstation surface. “I've got an idea. We'll call his contacts. Tell them you're a relative. Act like you don't know he's dead. You've got a part he needed for the machine. Say it's important, to make the thing run. You want to meet them, to give them the part.”

Danika rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. The long day finally caught up with her. Even though she'd slept in late that morning, her body told her she needed more rest.

She'd arrived in Cape Canaveral the day before, Thursday, and got tangled up with the police that evening. Meeting Riley, breaking and entering a boat, and finding a dead guy, set her anxiety level on overload, battling with fatigue.

Any chance she found to snooze, she grabbed. Many nights she couldn't sleep, her mind whirling like the spin cycle on a washing machine. Worry for her mom and brother, who were now Damaged Citizens. What would happen to them as they got older? Could she live with them, help them out? Her mother insisted Danika remain in their hometown of Raleigh, North Carolina, and that she didn't need help. True enough, right now. But in the future? How would that work out?

Getting a job near them wouldn't be an issue, but Paula, her mom, had this fierce independent streak. She would fuss and complain if Danika tried to help and there'd be plenty of fights. Thomas, her brother, wouldn't care much one way or the other.

Most nights, even if she chugged down enough wine to put the worry aside, guilt crept in, reminding her of her awful mistake and what she would never have in her life again. Sleep didn't come easy these days, but when exhaustion struck, she needed her bed. Much as she wanted to talk more to Riley, she had to shut down.

“I don't want a bunch of strangers to have my phone number. And we should fly low under the radar, don't you think?”

 “We'll get a burner phone so we can't be traced.”

“I've got news for you, people can trace those phones.”

“Not after I fix them.”

“Then what happens, if someone wants to meet with me?”

“I show up instead.”

“We show up instead.” She tapped her chest. “If we're going to work together, you should come and stay here.”

He shot her a look with a raised eyebrow.

“I meant, here at this motel. Not in my room.” Jeez. Why did she keep mentioning her motel room, like some kind of weirdo. Way past time to stop for the day.

“I know what you meant.” But she saw the corner of a grin as he turned away.

“Because it's a better motel, right on the ocean, that's why I suggested it.”

“Uh-huh. And then I'd be right here and you could keep an eye on me.”

Her turn to glance away before he saw her cheeks pink up again.

“As it happens, I cancelled my reservations at my other hotel and got a room here instead,” Riley said.

“So you can keep an eye on me.”

“Seems like a good idea, since you tend to run off like a rabbit.”

“I do what I want, if that's what you mean. I don't let anyone give me orders.”

“And I don't intend to give you orders, but if we come up with a plan, we need to operate in agreement. Think you can handle that?”

Because she suspected he was in pain, and they were both tired and rattled from the evening, she let his arrogant tone pass. “I can handle that.”

 “We should knock off for the night.” He stood and stretched. “I'll come back to this room in the morning, around ten.”

“I'm still good. Hand me that computer.”
Though she couldn't focus on the screen if her life depended, she'd be damned if she let Riley run off with it.

“Not a chance.” He shut the laptop.

For a brief instant, she considered snatching the computer from his hands. What would he do? Wrestle it away from her?
Maybe.

“What room are you in?”

“Three fifteen. Don't even think about waking me up early, got it?”

“Fine, got it. Sleep tight.”

Well, shit. As soon as he exited, she put a towel on the ground for padding, pulled her jump rope from her suitcase, and hoped the floor was well insulated, or there was no one below her. Exhaustion changed back into tension. Her exchange with Riley set her nerves on edge. Stupid man. Thinking he was in charge.

She popped in her ear buds again, plugged them into her phone this time, and with the music flowing, fell into an easy jump rhythm. For ten minutes she blotted out all thought, focusing on her breathing and movement. Though she wanted to go longer, she needed to wind down for the night and sleep. A warm shower would help.

Adjusting the nozzle to full strength, Danika used the water pressure to pound out the picture of Charlie sprawled on the floor. She'd seen dead bodies before, but not violent death, and his demise was violent, not an accident. Riley thought so as well.

Riley. Jeez. What was his story?

For the last eighteen months, Danika had been trying to find someone else with power like her. The first six months after she'd felt the first shocking changes to her body, she'd kept to herself, wrapped in terror, with no idea what happened. Once she tentatively tested her ability, and figured out what it was and more importantly, realized no one else knew about it, she relaxed.

Until that night she went too far. 

Since then, it became even more important to find out what caused this curse and how to break it. She looked at strange news stories and wondered, kept her eyes and ears open, searching for others like her, or some clue to what occurred.

Same thing Riley did. Now she found another person with power, and the guy would hardly talk to her. Worse, she couldn't figure him out. Confident, bordering on arrogant. Smart, resourceful, thought fast on his feet. The kind of guy you wanted on your team because you knew he'd win, whatever it took. Easy to look at, too. That longish brown hair, a serious face that had seen a horrible thing or two in life, but kinda cute when he smiled. That quick grin he'd flashed reminded her of heat lightning on a sultry summer night.

Nice pecs and abs, too.

Catching herself standing under the spray and staring off into space at the shower tiles, Danika flipped the water to cold. To snap herself back to reality. No thoughts about pecs and abs. On anybody. Not until she figured out what the hell tripped in her brain and turned her into a monster.

Damn it, she should have told Riley to download Charlie's journal for her. He might be all defensive with the stolen laptop, but he couldn't very well have said no to her request for a copy. She reached for her towel and swayed slightly, slipped, and grabbed at the shower wall. Past time to hit the bed. What a weird-ass day, and tomorrow promised to be just as bizarre.

But as she lay in bed, clutching the fuzzy, stuffed cat she brought with her when she traveled, a bud of hope opened in her heart, like the yellow and cream-colored daffodils springing up everywhere back home.

There was someone else afflicted with the same abnormality as she. Two other people. And one of them might have found answers.
 
****
 
Lieutenant Foster didn't believe in coincidence. Two people, in her city, drunk and cutting out their microchips. Uh-uh. Not a fluke. More like the perfect case for the SUB unit to sink its teeth into.

After The Annihilation, that horrendous act of terrorism against the country, the federal government took control over all police matters. Officially, Foster's department was Special Investigations Unit, and she spent her days dealing with criminal activity pertaining to drugs, prostitution, and money laundering crimes. But when a special task force formed, Strange and Unusual
Behavior, or SUB, she begged to be placed on that unit in addition to her other duties.

Doctors and researchers still didn't understand the full effects of the Malik virus. Foster, along with others, believed many incidents of peculiar crimes were an end product of the virus. They catalogued these cases with extra care and passed their notes on to the government agency responsible for researching the virus. Foster was all about doing anything in her power to help find a cure.

Foster loved being a cop and even though she didn't agree with many of the changes on the force, she did her job. She admitted, reluctantly, since the government took such drastic control, criminal activity declined. With cameras everywhere and every citizen registered and micro-chipped, lawbreaking became more difficult. Prisons were less crowded, but far more intense than years ago. No one in their right mind wanted to spend time in American jails.

Though losing many of her freedoms didn't sit well, when tragedy occurred, everyone had to make sacrifices. To work together for the betterment of mankind. Their new national motto. Foster counted herself lucky to still be alive, to not have suffered brain damage, to still be considered an Unchanged Citizen, or UC. Many of her friends and family members ended up as Damaged Citizens, DCs. She prayed every night for them, but moved forward each day. No one could change the past.

What she could change was the present, by doing her job, specifically, investigating odd occurrences. Lots of those in Cape Canaveral since the town attracted tourists and drunks. She had a good eye, however, to pick up the more unusual activity, not just citizens partying too hard. The type of activity that might be related to deviant behavior having to do with the virus. Riley and Danika fell into that scope.

Danika used to be a massage therapist, tested high intelligence, and was sent to school to be a physical therapist. Riley was once a hacker, a good one apparently, because they pulled him out of prison and put him to work at Frontier Authority. That government agency, that used to be Border Patrol, now locked down the entire Secure States of America.

Everyone in the country in 2020 was considered infected with the Malik virus, even if they escaped its worst effects. As soon as it was determined what caused the thousands of immediate deaths and mental damage, an electronic shield had been activated around the country, and no one in North America was allowed to leave, nor could anyone come in. The nation was now quarantined.

Wealthy citizens snapped up private islands in the Bahamas, the Florida Keys, and all other offshore land belonging to the Secure States. The islands used special shields, which only owners were able to access. Government officials and those with enough power and bribe money still snuck past the shield and travelled internationally.

When the announcement was made, and the borders activated via satellite, chaos reigned for weeks. All military and law enforcement personnel worked round the clock to control riots. They dispensed huge amounts of knock-out gas, formulated specifically for this purpose. Citizens were sprayed with hoses and left on the streets where they fell, to sleep in their own waste and vomit and become prey to looters. Riots soon stopped and an uneasy new order was restored.

Once the EzFly plane and EzRide bus systems were up and running, people complained less about trip restrictions. Being able to fly and ride anywhere in the country for free compensated for losing international travel privileges. Or so the government continually reminded its citizens. Some agreed, some didn't, but no one marched and protested. Not since those activities became illegal, and the punishment severe.

As part of the SUB unit, Foster had a lot of leeway with how she conducted investigations. She could do whatever she wanted, which included putting a tracker in Riley's temporary chip. No matter what he'd promised her, he wasn't going back home tonight, guaranteed. He was a man with a mission and didn't intend to leave town until he accomplished it. And she wanted to know about that mission.
 

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