Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(157)

“That’s the way I see it.”

There was only one way to stop him—send him to Guv.

“It ends here.”

Cynda pressed the medication patch on her bare arm, feeling the seal break. The infusion of the neural stabilizing solution burned like wicked fire, making her grimace. She rolled down the sleeve and buttoned the cuff. Almost immediately, her heart rate sped up and her eyeballs began to feel bigger than their sockets.



She executed a particular set of windings on her interface and then buried it under the coat. If she’d gotten the sequence right, it would create an audible recording of what happened in the square. If she died, the interface would automatically forward itself to Guv before Copeland would know it existed. Though it wouldn’t save her life, his fate would be sealed.

The transfer effect began to fade. If the watchman at the Kearly and Tonge warehouse was paying attention, he’d just witnessed one helluva of a light show.

Cynda studied her enemy. In his left hand was the favored weapon of the Whitechapel killer—a double-bladed amputation knife. The blade was at least seven inches long.

“Pretty low tech,” she said.

“Fits the scene, don’t you think?” he called back, advancing toward her.

“Toss the knife away. You don’t need any more charges when you get home.”

“Who says I’m going home?”

“Me.”

He cocked his head. “You’re one ballsy bitch, I’ll give ya that.” He gestured with a free hand. “Where’s your backup?”

“He’ll be here soon.”

A shake of the head. “Don’t count on it. The message never made it. Time delayed. He’ll get it after you’re dead.”

Just trying to psyche me. Unfortunately it was working.

“Why’d you kill Chris?” she asked, buying time for the medication to work. The way things were headed, the Neural-blocker was definitely on the menu.

“I didn’t. Mimes gave him too much chloral hydrate by accident.”

“It was a mistake?” she said, her concentration rattled.

Sensing her distraction, he took a few steps closer. “Stone wouldn’t tell us where to find Defoe, so I figured if the kid fell off the radar, they’d send you.”



Chris was bait?

Copeland edged sideways, closing. “You and Defoe were the only ones who could screw up the plan. I had my orders—deliver Rover One to my employers and you go back home a corpse. Problem solved.”

“Why would the Futures work with you?” she asked, moving to the right, like a hand on a clock dial. They were about nine feet apart now. She dug out the baton, letting it open to its full length.

“I’m the guy who gets things done.” He rolled his neck and shoulders, loosening up. “I’m amazed you found Morrisey,” he said. “How many pieces was he in?”

That didn’t deserve an answer. “The Ascendant’s dead.”

“Doesn’t matter. We don’t need him anymore.”

His right hand came up. A second later, the Neuro-blocker hit her center chest.

Cynda staggered back, feeling it flare through her like a bolt of electricity. She panicked when her breath tightened. Then it eased. The medication was working. Forcing a deep inhalation, she laughed so loud it echoed in the square. Euphoria. They’d not been lying about the side effects.

Copeland gaped at her. “How the hell—” He fumbled to reset the device.

“Don’t bother. It won’t touch me.” She beckoned to him again. “Put the toy away and let’s head home.”

For a half-second, she thought he’d give it another try and there was no guarantee extra hits wouldn’t take her out. To her relief, he dropped the device into a pocket. Then he closed the distance between them, playfully lunging at her. She jumped backward, overreacting, though he’d not been that close. The medication wasn’t helping on that front.

“Work on his brain,” Mr. Spider said. “Try to distract him.”

“You’re not doing very well, Copeland. You didn’t blow up London and you can’t find Rover One. I’d say your string is running out. You’ve only got one chance.”



“Which is?”

“Come back to ’058 and testify about the Null Mem project.”

Her enemy’s face stiffened as he shifted stance. He twisted the blade in his hand, a nervous gesture. “Never heard of them.”

“Then how did you know there was more than one?” Her foe’s eyes narrowed. “How about Drogo?” she pushed.

“How’d you hear about him?”

“Chris had the name on him when he died.”

A snort. “Probably Mimes. He was always making notes. The kid probably got hold of one. I knew I should have checked his pockets.”

“Why did Davies orphan the Null Mems in the time stream?” she pressed, playing a hunch.

“What better way to hide your mistakes?”

She took another step forward, though it put her closer to the blade. In response, it tilted in her direction, a taut line of lethal steel.

“How do you know about the crazies?” Copeland demanded.

“I’m one of them now. Didn’t your puppet masters tell you that?”