Free Sweet Mercy by Naomi Stone Page A

continue the exercise?” Mesmero asked in congenial tones, “I could have her stick the knife in some more vital spot, or maybe take a few slices at her own face—or, what do you think—does she really need all her fingers?”
    “You’re a monster,” Rachel hissed, shuddering. If only he were near enough to feel the revulsion she had for him right now, or to feel her horror at what he’d done to her friend.
    “Tsk, tsk.”
    She imagined him wagging a finger at her, then, horribly, imagined the finger to be one of Tamara’s.
    “Are you ready to hear my proposal or shall we continue this exercise? The sooner you listen, the sooner your friend can bandage her wound. I told her to avoid major arteries—this time, but the blood loss can’t be good for her.”
    “I’m listening.” Rachel spoke through gritted teeth.
    ~ * ~
    Fluke led the way to the casino. After Mabel had chosen a seat directly across from him at one of the tables, she asked, “Are you following me, young man?”
    “Not at all,” he said, with a raised brow.
    “You seem to turn up wherever I go.”
    “Coincidence.” He’d hoped that helping her fulfill her stated goal might shake her out of the delusional state Johnson had her in. Apparently not. He’d accessed what the Team’s research had uncovered so far. They’d found no real studies of the puppet master talent. One volunteer had come in during the initial period following the P-Bomb event, when new Talents were asked to help scientists better understand the nature of the changes taking place in the affected populace. There’d been some Talents civic minded enough to comply with the request—back before the real Freak-hunts began. This puppet master had apparently not liked the results of compliance and had used her ability on the custodians of the research facilities to quietly depart and disappear.
    The few less civic-minded puppet masters, like Johnson, who’d used their powers in ways that came to public attention had been killed before they could be stopped—leaving their victims with obsessive-compulsive disorders, or comatose like Longo.
    After his second Bingo in as many games, Mabel started giving Fluke the evil eye, so he left the table. He stayed in sight of her, lounging against a wall and wondering what he could try next. Might be better just to wait until that telepath-healer David had mentioned could get to Mabel.
    His specs pinged for attention. Speak of the devil.
    “She’s gone.” David’s usually cool tones cracked. “I got here, found the door open, no sign of Rachel, or Tamara, or Tom—and Rachel’s specs on the floor.”
    “I’m on my way.” Damn . Something in Fluke went cold as he left the Bingo games and threaded his way toward the exit of the casino, keeping up his connection to David while the coordinator contacted other Team members and the police, alerting them to the situation. Damn. Rachel. Her
    face flashed across his memory: wry, laughing, tender. She had to be okay.
    “What’s your assessment?” Fluke asked, as much to keep his own mind occupied usefully as to keep David from worry. As he exited the building, he glanced behind to see Mabel hurrying after him.
    “Tom lied to us. No one’s been here as recently as he said. I’ve got Beth Talbot here, reading the place. Called her before I called you.” Beth’s talent, in much demand with the police, let her read the history of a site, like rewinding a videotape of events. David continued. “She knows Rachel and was assigned as Tom’s buddy. She’s ticked that he took off without alerting her, but says Tom and Rachel were both here briefly, along with a man matching Johnson’s description. And she recognized Tamara from a photo, says she tackled Rachel and tied her up before they all left.”
    Fluke’s breath came had as he reached his car and swung in behind the wheel. “So, we have to assume Tom and Tamara are both compromised?”
    “Right. Johnson got to them somehow.