Now he healed faster than an injury could take root. A good thing, yes. He was faster than ever, sometimes slipping into some sort of hyperdrive, unable to slow until his body simply collapsed from fatigue. Not a bad ability, sure. Sometimes he’d speak, issue a command, and people who usually told him to go f**k himself would instantly obey, as if pleasing him were their only reason for living. Another cool little trick.
But sometimes he saw things. Things that hadn’t happened yet. Bad things, horrible things. Things that made him want to throw up blood and tear out his eyes with his fingernails.
Dallas scrubbed a hand down his tired face. Last night, he’d seen something far worse than his previous doomsday visions. He’d seen his friend, Jaxon Tremain, sobbing and begging for his life. Don’t do it. Please don’t do it. God, no. Tears had streamed down Jaxon’s face, agony had gleamed in his eyes, and he’d dropped to his knees.
Seemed innocuous. A man begging. So what. But calm, reserved Jaxon would beg for nothing, not even his own life. So that raised the question: what horrific circumstance had pushed him to that point?
Dallas’s stomach tightened. The image is wrong, has to be. Jaxon hadn’t cried when his arm had nearly been blown off during a gunfight. Hadn’t even cried when his dad died. Yet Dallas’s visions had so far proven one hundred percent infallible. Only thing he didn’t know was if it had already happened or if there was still time to stop it from happening.
“Tell me again what those government officials told you,” he commanded his boss, Jack Pagosa.
Jack sat hunched behind his desk, elbows propped on the surface. He always looked like Santa Claus on ’roids. Thick white beard. Bright red, round cheeks sculpted by milk, cookies, and fried syn-chicken. Wide shoulders and a bowl-full-of-jelly-and-fatty-meat belly. Jack always wore flannel, no matter the occasion. Today’s choice was blue and green, a match to his shrewd eyes.
Dallas had worked with him for over eleven years and trusted him implicitly. The man could have had Mia, Dallas’s partner and best friend, kicked out of A.I.R. when he learned she was half Arcadian, half human and had worked against agents to save her lover. He hadn’t. He’d promoted her.
“Jaxon was abducted by aliens,” Jack said, his voice grim. “Delenseans. He was being held in their version of lockup. He was then rescued by some government operative and is now being treated, deemed critical.”
“Why was he abducted? Ransom? And why can’t we see him, now that he’s been rescued by our f**king government?”
“Don’t know.” Jack’s eyes slid away from Dallas, a tell-tale sign of lying. When he realized what he’d done, he immediately brought his gaze back to Dallas.
What did Jack know?
Before Dallas had a chance to insist on the truth, a knock sounded at the door. Frowning, Jack pressed a button. The office’s only door glided open and Hector Dean, agent and resident prankster, stepped inside.
Every few days, the man shaved his head, intentionally and not as a dare, keeping his scalp to a tanned shine. Both of his arms were sleeved in tattoos and his eyes were golden, like a snake’s.
Despite the rough look, he was a good man. Dallas nodded at him in greeting.
Hector nodded back and said to Jack, “I need to speak with you about a case.”
“Can it wait?”
“How long?” was the irritated response.
“Just—” Jack waved his hand through the air. “Give me five minutes. Good?”
“Make it a quick five minutes.” Hector stepped back and the door closed in front of him automatically.
“What’s that about?” Dallas asked.
“We heard a rumor a group of alien warriors are headed our way.”
Alien warriors were always headed their way, it seemed. “Why can’t we see Jaxon?” Dallas asked again.
Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’ve asked me these questions a thousand times before, Dal. I have the same answers now as I had every other time. I suppose they’ve got him quarantined in case his captor’s exposed him to something toxic.”
“That’s bullshit.” Dallas slammed a fist against his knee. His leg wanted to jerk in reflex, but he held it steady, pressing his heel into the tiled floor. “Even in quarantine, we should be able to suit up and see him. Look into his room, at the very least. They won’t even tell us where he’s being held.”
“True, but there’s nothing we can do about it. Look, they had me call a temporary number, okay? He probably doesn’t even remember, but I talked to him and he sounded drugged out of his mind. I asked him for answers, and he refused to give them. Now those damn officials won’t let me tell him hello. Said I made things worse.”
“Something’s going on here, Jack. Something more than they’re telling us.” Something more than you’re telling me.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “Probably. But again, the reins of control aren’t ours, so our hands are tied. He’s safe. He’s being cared for. You have to accept that and drop it.”
“Drop it?” Hardly. “He’s been missing for four weeks. Four f**king weeks! None of us have been allowed to see him. If he’s quarantined, fine. I’ll bow on that point and won’t ask to see him again. But why won’t they let me call him? He’s like a brother to me.”
“I don’t know, okay? I just don’t know.” Jack’s stare was hard, angry.
Dallas slinked back in his seat, extending the long length of his legs. He rubbed two fingers over his jaw, considering his next options. He didn’t want to use his new abilities on Jack. Didn’t want to use them on anyone, really. Hell, Dallas didn’t even know if he could. Not intentionally. They came and went of their own accord, leaving chaos in their wake.
Besides, to try and use them was to give over to his alien side. The dark side, he thought dryly. Did he really want to do that?
He didn’t have to think about it. Yeah. For Jaxon, he would do anything.
Since the shooting, not many people wanted to hang with Dallas. Most feared him, kept their distance. He’d changed, he knew it, but there was nothing he could do about it. Only Mia, Jack, and Jaxon treated him the same as they always had. Jaxon was honorable, a better man than Dallas, and deserved all the help Dallas could give. If Dallas had to dabble in the dark arts, he’d dabble in the dark arts. And there was no better time than the present.