The Darby Shaw Chronicles: Books 1 - 3: The Darby Shaw Chronicles

By Liberty Speidel

What if you could revive the murdered?

Officer Darby Shaw is on the verge of making detective. The one caveat? Homicide is her last assignment pick. When she inadvertently brings a murder victim back to life, the least of her worries is staying out of the murder squad.

Per the federal government, superhumans must be tracked. Darby's the first ever to revive the dead and they're doubly-interested in why. With every member of the alphabet soup wanting to monitor, use, or study her, Darby will have to put aside her own feelings in order to secure homicide's protection from the feds.

But while the higher ups in the police department are willing to go to bat for her, she's only valuable if she can replicate her powers and bring more victims back from the dead. Darby will have to figure out how to once more bring the murdered to life—or risk saying goodbye to the city, job, and family she loves forever.

The Darby Shaw Chronicles Box Set includes the first three books in The Darby Shaw Chronicles: Emergence, Retaliation, and Capitulation. It also includes the exclusive novella Pursued, which you'll want to read before picking up the next title, Omission.

If you love spunky heroines, superheroes, and gritty mysteries like J.D. Robb's Eve Dallas novels, download The Darby Shaw Chronicles Box Set now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liberty Speidel
• Release date: May 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513066196

Liberty Speidel

Liberty Speidel thought she found herself years ago. But she recently discovered she's not the person she believed. Always striving for more understanding of self, Liberty writes tales of people discovering themselves—and others. A native Kansan, Liberty lives with her muggle teenage daughter, hobbit preteen son, and their menagerie of pets. (And, yes, her name really is Liberty.)

Book preview

The Darby Shaw Chronicles

Box Set

Emergence

Retaliation

Capitulation

&

Pursued, a short story

By Liberty Speidel

The Darby Shaw Chronicles: Emergence

Copyright 2014

The Darby Shaw Chronicles: Retaliation

Copyright 2014

The Darby Shaw Chronicles: Capitulation

Copyright 2015

The Darby Shaw Chronicles: Pursued

Copyright 2015

This edition published by Splashdown Books

Cover Photography: Erica Shurter Photography

Cover Design: Magpie Designs LTD

Cover Model: Gretchen Engel

Editor: Grace Bridges

Proofreader: Odd Sock Proofreading & Copyediting

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

Also by Liberty Speidel

The Darby Shaw Chronicles

Emergence

Retaliation

Capitulation

The Darby Shaw Chronicles Box Set *

Omission *

The Last First Date

Retention

Escalation **

The Shadowed Sol

Echoes in the Void **

Also by Liberty Nelle Pennington

Ozark River Romances

Love’s Current

No Accounting For Love

Loving A Fractured Heart

* Also available in paperback & audiobook

** Also available in paperback

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Emergence

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Retaliation

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Capitulation  

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Pursued  

Scene 1

Scene 2

Scene 3

Scene 4

Scene 5

Scene 6

Preview of Omission

Superhuman Bill of Rights

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Connect with the Author

A note to my readers:

First, thanks so much for choosing The Darby Shaw Chronicles Box Set to read! It means a lot that you’d choose my book over any other.

Second, I would be thrilled to get to know you through my newsletter. No spam—promise! You can sign up here. It’s a great way to learn about new book releases, giveaways, freebies, and most importantly, join the exclusive Facebook group for my books.

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy Darby’s adventures!

~L.S.

For Josh.

Just Because.

EMERGENCE

A Novella

CHAPTER 1

"O fficer Darby Shaw , please report to 18172 Euclid, apartment G. Reports of a domestic violence situation in progress."

I tapped my purple fingernails against the steering wheel. Overtime, here we come. I didn’t mind the work, but the raise that would come if I made detective would mean I could help my stepdad get the back surgery he needed. It was expensive, and I’d been putting my overtime pay into a fund for months, hoping to surprise him.

Copy that, dispatch. Please send a second officer to assist.

Confirmed. Officer Trent Oliver en route.

I flipped my siren on and did a U-turn, throwing my Kansas City Bendex P.D.-issued Flexion into hover mode to escape the early-rush hour congestion. I’d been looking forward to going home, but this was the job. Not like I had anything big planned. I’d taken my detective’s exam a few days earlier, so studying was done...unless I had to take it again.

Several people honked their horns as I narrowly missed their vehicles, and I’m sure at least one stuck their middle finger out the window. Oh well. They’d feel differently if they were in need of our services.

The scene was a little over a mile from my location, and with the help of the limited hover function to jump over the late-day congestion, I was at the scene in less than two minutes. As per protocol with reported D.V. situations, I waited in my cruiser for Officer Oliver to arrive. I used the few moments I had to check in with dispatch, then double-check all my equipment was ready, including a safety check of my size XXS armor.

Trent—an old friend from Academy days—arrived less than thirty seconds later. We both climbed out. He nodded to me. Shaw. Fancy meeting you here.

I smiled. How about that?

We approached the sidewalk together. Too quiet, Trent noted. Being mid-June and school having quit for the semester, there should have been the noise of kids playing in the playground a couple hundred yards to the south of the structure. There wasn’t.

I nodded, at the ready with my hand on my gun. As I’d waited in the cruiser, I’d scanned the area, and there was evidence of the possibility of a dampening field, effectively making our stunners useless. Good thing nothing can stop a Glock .427, a relatively new caliber, used only with private police departments.

The door to Apartment G was ajar slightly when we reached it. Both of us had our guns out of their holsters instantly. Trent nodded, indicating he’d lead the way into the rooms. I gave him my agreement. Dispatch, I said, activating the badge mic. Door is ajar, we are entering the premises.

Acknowledged, Officer Shaw.

Trent kicked the door the rest of the way open, and we both called out, Kansas City Bendex P.D.! Trent added, Raise your hands where I can see them!

I came in behind him and spotted a stringy-haired guy with missing teeth who was definitely not raising his blood-covered hands as my coworker had ordered.

She dead! You too late! The guy cackled.

Hands above your head! Trent barked. Do it now.

Stringy still didn’t do as ordered. He just laughed again.

I rounded Trent and closed the distance, keeping my gun leveled at Stringy. My partner said to raise your hands. Do it.

Whatchoo gonna do? You too tiny to be a cop. Stringy taunted. Why’d they let a middle-schooler out wid a gun?

With Trent coming closer and now solidly in my periphery, I closed the distance to the man, then swept my leg out to topple him over, catching Stringy in the back of the knee.

He went down, cursing all the way.

Trent was on top of him before Stringy realized he was down. She doesn’t like comments on her height, just for future reference.

You got him? I asked.

Yeah. Go check the rest of the apartment. Trent snapped the second cuff in place then jerked the guy up to a sitting position.

He didn’t have to suggest it twice. With an open floor plan, I found the body of a woman within ten seconds. Trent, she’s breathing! I holstered my gun and dropped to the floor. Dispatch, send an ambulance ASAP. One victim, female, early 30s. Multiple apparent stab wounds to the chest, arms, legs. The blood-covered knife was a few feet away on the floor.

Blood pooled around the woman, and it was impossible to avoid. If this had been my first rodeo, I’d probably have thrown up. The past and this job had steeled me, and I’d seen far, far worse.

Hang in there, I said to the once-pretty woman. Help’s on the way. I grabbed a blanket off the couch and used it to press to the wounds, although with this much blood spilled on the floor, it was hard to see how my meager attempts to save her would help.

Need assistance? Trent called.

Yeah, get in here. But bring Bozo with you. I don’t want him out of our sight.

Trent dragged him in and laid him on the floor a few feet from where she lay dying. What do you want me to do?

Are you a praying man? Because I think she needs a few, I quipped.

He shook his head. Want me to change that order to medical examiner?

She’s not dead yet, I reminded him.

But within a couple minutes, she was. Trent confirmed the absence of a heartbeat, and while he started CPR, I knew it was hopeless. She’d lost too much blood.

I stood up as Trent did compressions, glaring at Stringy as I made the call to dispatch. Send the medical examiner, crime scene techs, and a detective from the murder squad, I told them. This has now become a homicide scene.

Confirmed absence of pulse and breathing?

Confirmed by both Officer Darby Patricia Shaw and Officer Trent Andrew Oliver. A perk of working closely with the same officer multiple times, you learn their full name for dispatch and official purposes.

Homicide confirmed. ETA of medical examiner, crime scene techs, and detective between seven and eleven minutes. Dispatch out.

I sighed and turned to Trent. I’m going to go rope off the scene.

He nodded. You cleared the rest of the apartment, right?

Rookie mistake, one I quickly rectified, finding no adults, although there was a baby in a crib, sound asleep. I contacted dispatch to send a child services rep as well. Not being a baby person, I left the infant for now, then went to tape off the entrance to the apartment.

The EMT team arrived, having not received the recall order. They came in anyway to see if they could assist Trent in revival attempts. I had one of the techs check the baby, and a couple minutes later, she came out, carrying the yawning infant. The babe started rooting around the EMT’s chest, and she laughed. You must be hungry.

Let him starve, Stringy hollered from the floor.

My anger flared. I usually controlled myself at crime scenes. But Stringy’s whole attitude had me a little livid. Maybe it was due to the pending detective’s test results.

As the EMT worked on the victim we’d ID’d as Paola Kennedy via the ident fingerprint scanner, I stalked over to where Trent stared down at our perp. Official word had yet to come down as to whether to take him into the station or await the detective’s arrival.

Is this your wife? I demanded.

He sneered at me.

Trent tapped the guy’s leg hard. Stringy rolled a bit. Trent said, The officer asked you a question. I suggest you answer her.

Not no more. She dead.

Trent and I exchanged glances. He knew my temper. He tapped his PC unit. No marriages on file for Paola Kennedy.

Common law, I said absently to Trent. I don’t know who you are, but that woman over there didn’t deserve to die.

She got what was coming to her.

No one deserves to be murdered.

She did.

And what, pray tell, did she do?

Stepped out on me. Told me the kid’s not mine. He rolled and managed to lever himself into a sitting position. The thought crossed my mind that he’d had a lot of experience in cuffs if he had the strength to do that.

My blood began to boil. My father had used similar reasoning when he’d murdered my mother. I was fourteen. That doesn’t give you the right to kill her.

I didn’t do no such thing.

I got down on his level, stared into his eyes for a long moment. They were dead eyes, the color of aged whiskey, which he smelled of in addition to blood and whatever drug of choice he’d been using. Coolly, I said, You’re going to spend the rest of your unnatural life in jail for Paola’s murder. I’m going to make sure of it.

Darby— Trent started.

Our subject launched himself at me.

I saw it coming, but was too close to react. I put my hand out to keep him at bay, and both of us stumbled back.

I landed hard, practically on top of the body of Kennedy. Her killer still came at me, even with his arms cuffed behind his back.

I put my arm out to stop him. My other hand grappled for stability, finding it in Paola’s cooling arm.

What I felt next surprised me. But you don’t usually expect to feel an electrical charge when you come into contact with a hyped-up, drug-addicted killer.

Adrenaline flowed like a geyser through me. Though aware of everyone, my biggest focus was the surprising charge. It bordered on painful, and I could feel every iota of energy run from my left hand, through my arm, across my shoulders, and down my other arm, exiting through the points of contact with the victim.

There was a din of voices, most of them urgent. A crowd surrounded us. Someone tried to yank our suspect off, and jumped back before contact.

Trent screamed for me to stop what I was doing. I had no words. I didn’t even know what was happening. How could I stop it?

SHE’S BREATHING! THE hum of voices became clearer to my ears after a few seconds.

The connection weakened until it stopped altogether.

Our suspect collapsed on top of me, out cold.

Help! I hollered, and almost immediately, Trent and another officer had hauled the dead weight off.

I tried to scrabble up, but my knees were too shaky. I flopped away from Kennedy, turned, and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Kennedy was breathing on her own.

One of the EMT’s looked at me. What did you do?

I didn’t do anything! Panic welled up to nearly overflowing.

You did something! She’s breathing, and these wounds don’t look near as bad as they did before you landed on her.

I looked at the woman’s rising chest. While still bloody, one or two wounds had completely sealed up, and the others didn’t look near as vicious as they had earlier.

From behind me, Trent said, What are you guys waiting for? Get her to the hospital! He reached for me and pulled me into a standing position. I was still very weak, and though completely against my code of conduct, I clung to him as I regained my strength.

A mad scramble ensued, and moments after they got her out the door, the detective arrived on scene.

That my victim? he asked.

I nodded, straightening and forcing my weak knees to work as I stepped carefully away from Trent.

They taking her to the morgue before I can look at the scene?

Hospital, detective.

He looked confused. She’s dead, right?

I grimaced. Umm, something happened. She’s alive.

He raised his eyebrows. You mean to tell me I got called out here on a DV call? How the hell did dispatch screw that one up?

Trent cleared his throat. Don’t blame Officer Shaw. She revived her.

The detective looked me over. What are you, some kind of superhuman?

I-I-I don’t know. Me, a superhuman? Oh, Lord, I hoped not. But it could explain what had transpired in the last twenty minutes. Although I’d never heard of a superhuman having powers to revive the dead. Hovering, flying, super-strength, seeing through walls, sure. But not bringing the dead back to life.

How the hell can you not know?

I just don’t! I don’t know what just happened. All I know is I watched that woman die as I tried to save her. Her killer attacked me, I fell on her, stopped him, and next thing I know I’m a conduit for some sort of electrical charge between the two of them. That’s it! I had no control over it whatsoever.

The detective looked around the scene. You sure about that?

I nodded.

He beckoned for me to follow. Outside, away from other officers and lookie-loo’s, the taller, older officer put his arm around my shoulder. A light tingle from his hand made me twitch. I wondered if it was an after-effect from whatever had just happened.

Officer Shaw, is it? The detective asked me.

Yes, sir.

You’re going to shut up now. Don’t say anything to anyone about what happened in there, not even me, not even your boyfriend, not until you talk to your Internal Affairs rep. Unlike days of old, IAB would take both sides—one detective or lawyer would represent me, while another would investigate the situation.

My lips parted in surprise.

Not one word, do you hear me? I’m going to have my LT send someone for you, do you understand?

I bobbed my head obediently.

He released me. The tingle stopped. I want you to stay with that officer who you were with earlier until that rep arrives and escorts you back to HQ. Got it? But no talking to him.

Of course. But why?

The detective turned and looked back towards the door to the apartment. What happened in there is a whole lot more messed up than either of us expected.

But I didn’t do anything!

He held up a finger. Not another word.

But—

Not one more word, Officer.

But thank you.

He gave a tight smile. You may want to rethink that later when I’m interrogating you at HQ.

Well, thanks anyway. What’s your name?

Herman. Detective Mark Herman.

CHAPTER 2

Within twelve hours , I was placed on administrative leave, similar to what my colleagues went on in the event of an officer-involved-shooting.

Detective Herman had been right to warn me not to be too grateful. He drilled down during interrogation to the idea that what had happened could only be explained if I was a superhuman.

But no known superhuman had ever revived the dead.

My IAB rep argued on my behalf, but he was even confused by everything. It was rare to have a human discover superhuman abilities in their twenties. Everyone kept asking why I didn’t know I was a superhuman.

I couldn’t answer that.

After a certain point, Herman and his LT both stated they were superfluous, seeing as they were in the murder division of KCBPD, which was another bone of contention—why had the homicide department been called in for a non-deceased individual?

She was dead! I repeatedly said, as did Trent and the EMT’s called in to bear witness.

When Herman and his LT removed themselves from the equation, that’s when the hordes arrived.

The hospital became my prison. Blood cultures were drawn and sent away for research; I was poked, prodded, and scanned so much I wondered if the radiation would make me glow in the near future.

On my fourth day in hospital confinement, a small man with bottle-bottom glasses came into my room. He didn’t have the doctor vibe about him, and the way he carried himself set me on edge the second I saw him. I sensed arrogance.

I sat up on the couch where I’d been pretending to read a magazine one of the nurses had brought. I didn’t care about women’s fashion, so this man was a distraction, although I wasn’t sure a welcome one. Yes?

I’m Jonas Jones.

I hope you gave your parents hell for that one.

He cleared his throat and ignored my quip. I represent the Central Intelligence Agency.

What, are they lacking in some way? You don’t seem that intelligent to me. I was already tired of being here, and I had a bad feeling about where this was headed. Normally, I didn’t run to insults, but there were exceptions to everything.

He narrowed his intensely-magnified eyes. The result was comical. But neither of us laughed. The agency has a request. He pulled a stack of official-looking papers out and set them on my empty table next to the bed. This is a copy of a set of papers we filed with the district court two days ago, requesting to have you transferred to our research facility.

I glanced from the actual paper—I was used to digital paper—to Jones. And?

We’d like to have you agree to come with us willingly, without the need for the courts’ intervention.

I’ll have to think about that. Hmmm, nope, not going to happen. I rose and came closer to him. We were nearly at eye level with each other, which didn’t happen that often with me, especially with men.

You’ll want to reconsider this decision, he said evenly.

If you’re trying some sort of mind trick, it’s not working.

We glared at each other for a long moment.

Get out of here and take your novel with you, I said quietly.

I don’t believe a prisoner has much right to give people orders.

No, but a patient does. I reached for the call button. The officer guarding my door—for my protection, the KCBPD had assured me—was there within five seconds.

Problem, ma’am? It was odd being ma’amed by an officer who was in my Academy class, but a lot had changed in the last few days.

This man refuses to leave.

My guard glared at Jones. Officer Shaw asked you to leave. I suggest you do it quickly and quietly.

Jones huffed and snatched the papers off the table, stuffing them into his briefcase. You’re not done with us—or with the other agencies who want you.

An old Latin phrase popped to mind, one I’d read in a book as a teen. "Molon Labe."

Jones gave a brief glimpse of surprise, then he shut it down, going back to looking perturbed. It took another moment, but he was quickly gone.

When I was alone again, I sat on the couch for fear my knees would give way. I hadn’t shown much of it, but Jones’ presence had angered me deeply. Who wouldn’t get angry when some government agency was demanding you relinquish your rights and go off to who knows where for testing?

Of course, Jones was right on one thing: his visit initiated a slew of other agencies approaching me. All had put forth requests with the district court for them to garner control over me, all wanted me to agree to put myself in their hands for testing. Not one could identify why I, a rational woman, would agree with this. All left me with a general warning that I wasn’t done with them yet.

They all got the same answer.

While being harassed was not a walk in the park, the worst part of the whole situation was they wouldn’t let me see my adoptive father, Pops, AKA Simon Cuthbert. No one was allowed in or out, not unless they were part of the Alphabet Soup or had some medical suffix after their names. The rotating guard outside my room ensured it.

So, suspicion arose when a woman with lime green hair and a most definitely not-government-issued suit came in on my eighth day of confinement. She smiled when she saw me. You must be Darby. I’m so thrilled to meet you. I’m Genova Murphie. She took off the cross-body bag of mahogany leather and hung it on a hook near the door.

So, what are you going to do to me? Need another scan? No, wait—the one thing that hasn’t been done to me is an endoscopy. You must be here to take me to that. I folded my arms over my chest, and scooted back in the chair, intentionally looking away.

I’m here to get you out.

And take me where? Area Fifty-seven? Or is there a government installation hundreds of miles from civilization in Alaska you want to take me to? Or is it Greenland this time? I’ve heard it’s not as icy as everyone says.

I presume you’d rather go home than any of those other places. And that’s my intention, to see you go home. Unless you’re wanting to take a break from the summer heat.

I didn’t believe it, and told her as much.

She smiled again and approached the bed, where she sat on the very end so she remained a distance from me. Darby, I’m from the SHS—the Superhuman Society of the Midwest. I’m the VP in charge of membership, and also a lobbyist for superhuman-related issues in the Capital. When I became aware of your situation, I went up the chain and demanded to see you, and insisted they let you out of here.

Just why would they listen to you? And why should I believe any of this? How do I know you’re not from one of the departments who have been in here, trying to get me to agree to leave with them?

Genova raised an eyebrow. They’ve been pressuring you to leave?

I nodded. Yes. There have been six or seven representatives in here the past few days.

She swore viciously. They weren’t in a position to do that!

I frowned, and waited for her to continue.

She noticed my silence and turned toward me a bit more. What do you know about what’s going on?

I’ve been put under way more tests than I’m comfortable with. They haven’t told me what all they’re looking for. I’ve fought all of the procedures where they want me unconscious. So far, they haven’t pressed too hard, but I’m afraid the time may come. No one will tell me anything.

Genova swore again and rose, pacing the floor between the couch and the bed. She had several unsavory things to say about the Department of Superhuman Affairs in particular. Are you familiar with the Superhuman Bill of Rights?

I read about it in school, but that was over a decade ago. There was a small refresher in Academy, but they barely spent an hour on it.

You’re going to want to become familiar with it. She stalked back to her bag where she dug through for a moment, retrieved digi-paper which she manipulated for a moment, then brought to me. Here’s a copy. You need to know this backwards and forwards.

If I need to know it, this means I’m a superhuman, doesn’t it?

She sat down. That’s not for me to say. At the moment, they’re treating you like you are one, although they’re taking it to greater extremes than I’ve ever seen since I came into my powers.

But you wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.

I usually get involved with any high-profile case of a potential new superhuman. Yours appears to be especially remarkable.

I bit my lips together and glanced out the window. So, what happens next? Do I get a locater implanted so the government can keep track of me?

No...nothing of the sort. You’ll have to register with the Department of Superhuman Affairs, and keep them updated on your place of residence, and any changes in the status of your abilities. That’s after your abilities are confirmed both genetically and in practice, of course.

Oh, of course. I heard the snark in my voice, and while I hated it, didn’t apologize.

She shifted a little and came closer to where I sat. Darby...I don’t know if you realize that just having to register is way better than we used to have it.

I know my history. I know that supers used to be forcibly relocated and such.

I’m not much older than you, so I never had to live in those conditions, however many of those who came before us died in several skirmishes more than fifty years ago to liberate us from prison camps. The government didn’t call it that, but that’s what it amounted to.

I know, I said again, more softly this time.

Then you understand why they track us.

Not really, no. I’m a person—a woman. The government shouldn’t track me just because I have special abilities, if that indeed is the case.

I’m with you a thousand percent. Really, I am. But they don’t think that way.

Then why, if you’re a lobbyist, have you not been able to change their minds?

She smiled again, despite the glare she was receiving from yours truly. I’d be happy to talk politics with you some other time, after we get you through this particularly difficult period.

Difficult for me, not for you.

You may be surprised to find that’s not the case, Darby. Genova stood and came closer to my chair. "You’re in some pretty heavy danger right now. No records can be found of any supers being able to do what you’ve just done, not even close. The CIA, FBI, ANS, and about a dozen other government agencies have been trying to find a court that will take your case and give them carte blanche with you. So far, the ones they’ve approached have either refused the case on a jurisdictional issue or have found in your favor due to the Superhuman Bill of Rights. Unfortunately, they’re not stopping there. They’re sending their requests to the Court of Appeals."

Deer-in-the-headlights look. This is the first I’ve heard of it.

I’m not surprised. You’re unique. One in a trillion. Why shouldn’t they want to figure out more about how you did what you did?

Easy for you to say.

That’s right, it is. Because I’m trying my damndest to stop them. No one should have their freedom taken away for something so fully out of their control as a genetic mutation.

Have you had any luck dissuading them?

This time, Genova looked away. Not yet. They’re still squabbling over who gets you. If one agency could give a superior reason for removing your rights, and if they found a willing judge, I think you’d already be in some secret facility.

So, I’m about to regain my freedom, only to have it taken away? That’s really horrible news to give someone, Genova.

Yeah, I know. Look, I know how you feel—

How can you? You’re not looking at losing your freedom.

"Darby, most superhumans have two powers—a primary, and a secondary. My secondary power is empathic in nature. I do understand how you’re feeling. You’re afraid to say it completely around a stranger, but you’re angry, confused, scared, and most definitely frustrated. That about sum it up?"

I stared at her.

She laughed. I nailed it.

I got up. You could say that. I went to the futon along the windows and sat down. So apparently, I can’t refuse to go, and that is that?

She gave me a long look, her lime hair slipping forward. Genova brushed it from her face. You are young, I’ll give you that. It can explain some of the naïveté. It’s rather sickening how they’ll violate the rights of the individual to suit their desires. And at the moment, you are what they desire.

My stomach started to feel ill at the thought. They won’t get me without a fight.

Genova nodded. That’s what I like to hear. But they’ll come for you when you least expect it.

Do you have personal experience with this? Or just anecdotal?

She crossed the room and sat on the futon next to me. There, she leaned her arm on the back and furrowed her fingers into that unnatural-colored hair. "My uncle was also a superhuman. One of the first to be identified. He, my mother, and their sister were living on the edge of Baltimore about fifty-five years ago. Around three AM one night a year after Uncle Marty was ID’d as a super, they broke in wearing riot gear and took my uncle. My mother and auntie had been trying to hide him because other supers had been abducted, some of whom they knew.

"It took a few years before the uprising started in the prison camps. From what we’ve pieced together, my uncle helped incite it where he was taken, just outside of Helena, Montana. He was killed following one of the initial skirmishes for inciting a riot—hanged, actually. Word got out of the camps on how the supers were being treated. So many of his generation—both super and not—were enraged by what happened following that skirmish that opinion changed.

Today, our government is more careful. They want to keep an eye on us. Those of us with every-day powers mind our P’s and Q’s, and try to stay low on their radar. You... She pulled her hand out of her hair and pointed at me. You are an unknown entity, a game changer. Not unlike Paige Saunders. Genova referred to the first identified superhuman.

They’re going to want to know everything there is to know about you. Up until now, no one’s been able to affect any other human in this sort of way. No one’s a healer. Now there’s you. What they decide to do with you could have negative repercussions if it turns public opinion of us from favorable to fear.

The sick feeling got worse—a lot worse. Genova, are you trying to frighten me?

Warn you. I’m doing what I can from the bureaucratic level, but you leave this hospital and no one is protecting you, you have to stay on your guard. They may do something to make it seem like they have the right to take you wherever and make you do whatever they want. She paused to take a breath, then added, "And Darby? I do mean whatever they want."

AS PROMISED, I LEFT later that afternoon. My adoptive father picked me up from the hospital.

After a lengthy hug, we left the hospital premises and drove to a coffee house between our places. Before all this mess had gone down, we would often meet there before my shift for breakfast.

As I waited for Pops to bring me my double espresso, I glanced around and wondered whether I’d be seeing these walls again. I’d been coming here with Pops since he’d adopted me at fourteen. They’d remodeled once, and the baristas changed periodically, but it had a homey feel. I knew it would be one thing I missed if I could never return.

Of course, my conversation with Genova Murphie had scared me so spitless that I was thinking of throwing a few clothes in my car and making a run for South America. I’d probably be stopped at the border, but between Kansas City and Mexico, there was a lot of nothing where a woman could hunker down and hide.

The practical, and slightly negative side of me said that as desperate as the government was to have me, they’d know where I was, no matter what. Whether that was a secret chip implanted when I was unaware in one of the procedures or tests that had been done in the past week, or something as mundane as a GPS tracker placed on my car was anybody’s guess. The thought had me a bit morose.

The barista came over with my dad when my espresso was done, bringing a plate of cookies with him. On the house, the barista said. Heard some rumors something happened at one of your scenes and you were in the hospital. That true?

I glanced at Pops, who shrugged. To the barista, I said, Yeah, it’s true.

Hope you’re okay. We missed your face around these parts the last few days.

I smiled, and thanked him for his concern.

When he left, I leaned in towards Pops, who sipped his black coffee. What’s gone around about that day?

All kinds of things. I’m not even sure what happened since I haven’t seen you. The department’s been mum about the incident, just said the event surrounded an attempted murder during a domestic violence situation. Never explained why they put you on leave. He peered at me with curious grey eyes, which were only slightly darker than his silvery hair. Pops’ jowls had a most serious set this afternoon.

I sipped at the espresso—my first caffeine since the incident. They hadn’t allowed me any stimulants while in the hospital, just basic sustenance, and I do mean basic. Which departments talked to you?

They would never say. Pops had told me on the way over that he’d had several batches of people come by the church and demand to talk. I suspect the FBI, but there was more than one group.

What kinds of questions did they ask?

Your background, history, whether you’d done drugs as a teen or young adult, all kinds of things, some of them pretty out there.

I swallowed hard and broke off a piece of the snickerdoodle cookie from the plate. They think I’m a superhuman.

Pops cocked his head to the side, but didn’t say anything.

When I got to my last call, it was supposed to be a DV. But when we got there, the wife was already on her way to being dead. The husband had killed her. Something about this guy made me mad. I confronted him. I don’t remember what I said exactly, but I was pretty upset. Well, it ticked him off, which was my intention, but he came at me. He knocked me into the victim. Next thing I know, I’m in contact with both of them and electricity is running through me. When it ended, the victim is breathing.

Pops’ eyebrows shot up. And you’re sure the woman was dead?

I nodded. Trent Oliver confirmed it, as did the EMT’s who were on scene. I revived her. Nothing like that’s ever happened before anywhere. They don’t know what to make of it. So, I’m suspended from the force until further notice. I may even lose my job.

I don’t think the BPD would do that.

I snorted derisively. You don’t know that. What if I’m a liability? What if someone sues the department or me? What if the feds pressure the BPD to fire me?

Why would they do that?

I shrugged and spun my cup in a circle. I don’t know. They’d find a reason.

You, my dear, have become cynical the last few days.

Being unsure about your general future will do that.

Pops reached across the table and covered my hand. You will have a great future, Darby.

I lowered my voice. Pops, they’re talking about taking me to some government research facility.

His gaze hardened. They can’t do that, not according to the—

They’re the government. They can do whatever the bloody hell—

I stopped short when Pops gave me a disappointed look. I looked into my cup and waited for him to break the silence.

After an interminable time, Pops said, Now, how soon do they think this could happen?

Could be today, could be a month from now. Who knows? As far as I know, there’s an internal fight going on between the departments to see who gets me. Once they figure that out, they may have a much stronger reason that could turn a court in their favor.

He paused for a moment, and I could practically see the wheels turning inside his sharp brain. I don’t know much about these matters, but a few of the parishioners are lawyers. I’ll contact them to see if they have any experience with this sort of thing.

That’s the thing! No one’s had to deal with this since the Super Uprising. Since then, this all became settled law. Of course, that’s with superhumans doing so-called normal things like seeing through walls, flying, and super-strength. I’m a new entity, or so they tell me. I paused, finished off my espresso in an especially large gulp. The representative from the SHS suggested they may try to classify me as something other than a superhuman so they can do whatever they want to me, including take away my freedom.

Pops’ jowls jiggled when he clamped his jaw tighter. They can’t be allowed to do that.

I’m just one person, Pops. How am I supposed to stop them?

We’ll figure something out. I won’t let them do that to you.

I smiled. Thanks.

It’s what I’m here for. He leaned over and peeked in my cup. Another espresso?

I spent the rest of the afternoon with Pops, staying away from my apartment until very late. Pops stated that he’d been by several times to water plants and take in my mail, and there had always been a reporter hanging around. Apparently while officially, no department, KCBPD or other, would confirm what had happened or who the new super in town was, word had leaked that it was me, and the press was eager to jump on the story.

When Pops followed me back to my apartment after we picked up my car from the station, he loaned me an oversized sweatshirt and a baseball hat to stuff my streaky blonde hair into. It was for good reason. There was a news van parked in my lot, but I made it into my building and up to my second-floor flat without incident.

I spent the next few days eluding the press, grudgingly going to the hospital for additional tests, and pondering my future. Less than two weeks earlier, I had been looking ahead to the probability of becoming a detective—what I’d strived for ever since I knew what I wanted to do with my life. When I’d called the police after my mother’s murder, the cops who had shown up had made an impression on me in the days and weeks following.

Before my mother’s murder and my father’s arrest, I’d floundered through life. Got in a little trouble, got bad grades if I even bothered to go to school. My parents didn’t care, why should I?

But having Simon in my life, coupled with Detective Sherman...the men had given me something to strive for. Two people who I didn’t want to disappoint. The first six months or so had been rocky—I’d run away from Simon only to run to Detective Sherman who would promptly return me to my guardian. But they found a way to get through to a troubled and frightened girl.

And I was a better woman for it.

But what would happen now? If I was a superhuman, would that avenue have a roadblock abruptly erected?

Thinking of Caleb Sherman had me wanting to call him, and a few days after getting out of the hospital, that’s just what I did.

Since leaving Kansas City, my mentor had taken on a beach bum lifestyle, living just outside of Limón, Costa Rica. When I finally connected with him, his blonde and gray hair had gone long—nearly as long as mine—and he hadn’t shaved in a few months. But his bright blue eyes were happy.

He smiled when he moved in front of the camera. Officer Darby Shaw, as I live and breathe.

What I wouldn’t give to hug the man. But Costa Rica was a bit too far to go for such niceties. How are you, Caleb?

Well, you know this beach life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s gorgeous every day, I can fish anytime I want, and on my pension, I live like a king. It’s a rough life. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

I laughed and scooted my chair closer to the monitor. You may have a houseguest if things don’t shake out right and soon.

Well, I wouldn’t have a problem with it, but Meg may. She wouldn’t know what to do with another girl around, and an American at that. But his happy eyes went serious. What may have you heading my way?

I pushed my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ears. Have you heard any news from Kansas City in the last week or so?

Shaw, I haven’t even looked at a news feed in the last month.

It didn’t surprise me. I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to reiterate everything. But I did, telling him everything that had happened I felt was pertinent.

As I talked, my mentor’s frown got deeper and deeper. When I finished, he whistled low. I always knew you were a special kid. Didn’t think about you being an actual superhuman, though.

Alleged.

Yeah, whatever, kid. I’ve been around the block enough to know if they had you stuck in a hospital room for more than a week, you’ve got superhuman genetics.

I frowned. Bendex may can me. Or worse, turn me over to one of the agencies who have been trying to get me.

Bendex won’t can you. They’ve got one of the softest policies where supers are concerned.

I offered him a sad smile. I hope that’s the case. I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t be a cop.

You’ll fight for your position, that’s what you’ll do. They won’t can you without a hearing, and it can take a few weeks. Besides, I think you’d have grounds for a wrongful termination suit.

Would it be worth it?

He gave me a look that said I was risking a slap upside the head if he had been in the room. Damn straight it would be worth it. You still want to be a cop, right?

More than anything.

And you’re still up to get your detective’s shield, right?

If I passed my test. I haven’t heard anything on it because they won’t let me in the station.

I’m sure you passed. Now look at me. He paused. You are a great cop. You will be a great detective. And Bendex would be a crowd of fools if they get rid of you because they can’t see past your genetics.

I ended the comm call a few minutes later. He was right: if it came down to it, I would fight for my position. And I’d figure things out from there if I was let go.

And if worst came to worst, at least I had a place to run to. My mentor knew people who would help me get to Costa Rica.

In the days that followed, things were too quiet. Other than Pops and my apparently new best pal, Genova Murphie, all my friends kept their distance. I made a few calls to my associates and the guy I’d been seeing casually, but everyone claimed to be too busy. Just when you needed them the most...

I hadn’t decided what Genova wanted with me, and even though I was a bit trepidatious about her ulterior motives, she seemed genuine. If there was one thing I trusted, it was my gut. In my short time as a cop, it was rarely wrong. And my gut told me Genova was sincere. I needed a friend right now. She was filling that role. Sure, it may have been some scheme to get close to me for