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Chapter 3

Tonya Bellmore sat alone in her quarters. The lights were out, and the door locked. In her lap rested her Glock; the weapon was loaded with the safety off. The last six months had been rough on her. Frank, Abby, Joe, even her longtime partner Jerry, were dead. She had loved each of them in their own way. Frank had been like a father to nearly everyone at Psi-Mechs, Inc. Addy had been like her little sister. Tonya and Joe, though no one knew it, or at least pretended they didn’t, had shared more than one night together in each other’s arms. But it was Jerry’s loss that stung her the most. The two of them had been paired together when she joined up, and they had been partners in the field since that first day. When he was alive, she’d always just called him Wallace. Now though, to feel closer to him, she thought of him as Jerry. Tonya could hear him chiding her for sitting here like she was. He would have told her that loss happens in war. Good soldiers learn to deal with it and carry on. The problem was, she wasn’t a soldier. Not really. She was just a telepath with a gun and well-honed instincts. Her grip on her Glock grew tighter as she wished for the courage to put it her temple and be done with it all.

The door to her quarters flew open. She blinked as the harsh overhead lighting of the corridor outside spilled in over her. It took everything she had not to put a hole in Donald’s forehead as the kid came barging through the doorway.

“Don’t do it,” Donald told her, his voice high pitched, yet thick with fear.

“Donald!” she yelled. “What the frag are you doing here?”

“I saw there was a seventy-nine point eight percent chance you would take your own life tonight if left unattended,” Donald stammered. His grip on his emotions was shaky at the best of times, and clearly he was having a difficult time controlling them at the moment. The kid was a high-functioning autistic. He was also the adopted son of Katherine Grimm, leader and owner of Psi-Mechs, Inc., and one the most powerful precogs in the world.

Tonya stared at him, not really knowing how to respond. There was no point lying about why she had her Glock out and loaded. He already knew exactly what she was up to, and had said as much.

“Put the gun down, Tonya,” Donald said. “Your life doesn’t end here…like this.”

Tonya set the Glock aside on the bed and stared up at Donald. “So where do we go from here, Donald?”

“No one knows I am here, Ms. Bellmore,” Donald told her. “I would say, whatever happens from here is your choice. I have done what I can.”

“You’re not going to report this…even to your mom?” Tonya asked.

Donald shook his head awkwardly. “I am not.”

Tonya blinked in surprise. “Why?”

“It would serve no purpose,” Donald said. “I believe you have made your choice now, and that it is the correct one.”

“Thank you, Donald.” Tonya rose from the edge of her bed, getting to her feet.

“Mr. Ringer will be hunting for you soon,” Donald informed her. “My mother has pressed him to follow one of the leads the two of you have dug up, regarding finding more talented individuals to aid our cause.”

With that said, Donald turned and left her quarters. Tonya stood in the light spilling into the room from the corridor. She knew Donald had saved her life. If the kid hadn’t shown up when he had, her brains would be splattered all over the sheets of her bed. With Donald, as often as not, his motives were a guessing game. Had he saved her because she was family to him, or did he know something about her future she didn’t?



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Framed