Project Gemini (WATTYS 2016 WINNER!)

Chapter Fourteen - The Illusionist. (Part 1 of 2).

HE HAD FAILED her.

Sworn to protect her, sworn to do his duty, only to screw up in the moments that it meant the most. Thick black smoke rolled across the ceiling as Kingsley stood there, the revolver trembling against his thigh as he kept his back to the operating theater wall. The chaos washed over him, each sound like he was listening underwater as he observed the surgical team get to work. Slicing through the Pariah's chest like a hot knife through butter as they laid the girl out on a table beside it, scarlet blossoming under the green sheet as they searched for his bullets.

He choked on each breath as he shifted his weight, decades of cigarette damage and Thames water melded into one medical mess in his lungs. The stitches on the back of his head stung with sweat as heat beat down on his neck; his breath clouded the inside of the mask only he couldn't leave. Not when there was work to be done.

Blood seeped up the thin tube buried in Eva's arm, moving ever so slowly towards his suspect's arm. His chest stabbed at the thought, at how broken and damaged his lead witness was. How a girl in witness protection—his only key in this case—was lying in a prison's operating theater sedated, donating blood. Whatever mutual working relationship they had was gone, royally fucked after less than a week, and a part of him wondered how much of her was splitting at the seams as a result.

He couldn't tear his gaze away as guilt settled heavy in his gut, knotting like some poisonous snake had claimed its home. His finger slid to the trigger, caressing the metal as he watched her. That was no hallucination, no slip of the mind.

That had been him.

The Illusionist was here.

And the bastard wasn't going to get to him either. He cocked his gun and tightened the straps on his mask. Lightning struck the roof again, the plaster shivering under the force as a bulb in the corridor popped.

"How long do you need?" Kingsley asked them.

A woman glanced at him, surgical tools under the Pariah's skin. "Minutes to stabilize the male, hours if you want him alive."

"You haven't got hours."

"Then you haven't got someone to question, have you?" she snapped.

He glared at her but held his ground, the ventilation system in the room kicking in.

"That won't hold," he said, nodding to it. "Get him stable, get them on a helicopter—"

"There's no evacuation option here, Detective," she said. "Get the fire under control, leave us to worry about the patients."

The rest of the team kept their heads down and kept working as his ears burned, thankful she wouldn't be able to see the muscle jumping in his jaw he let his gaze flicker to Eva. Something unfamiliar squeezed his heart, a rush of everything he wanted to say but couldn't find the words to seared through his mind. He sucked in a breath and looked away—the words could wait.

Another bolt of lightning struck. A bang came from the helipad doors.

He reined in a swear. "I'll hold them off for as long as I can."

Another crack.

A third.

Desperate.

An arch of electric blue light slashed the corridor walls. No, not desperate.

Furious.

"Keep the Reapers close—" his finger wouldn't settle on the trigger, "—and keep the girl safe at all costs. The Chancellor wants her."