Hyper Lynx (The Lynx Series Book 6) by Fiona Quinn (ebook reader for pc and android TXT) 📗

And since I’m your colleague, it spreads the embarrassment around.” He pushed down the turn signal to indicate a left turn and rolled to a stop at the red light. “Yeah, I get the feeling that they’re afraid of you, and they want me there to protect them.”

I snorted, the laughter bubbling up and spilling over.

Striker sent me a grin. “You laugh, but I’m serious.”

“No pressure. So my role is puzzler? But honestly, is this setting you up for another boots-on-the-ground mission? You just got back from being down range. I’d like you to be home for a bit if it’s possible.”

“Yeah, there’s a chance that if this turns into a case, they want Iniquus to work, that they’d want to read me into the program for next action steps.”

Striker’s phone rang, and he answered. As Striker ran through logistical data on a case that I wasn’t working on, I turned and looked out the window to give him what privacy I could.

It had started to rain.

As big fat droplets spattered the windshield, Striker flicked on the wipers.

I looked down at the cubby in my door to reassure myself my umbrella was there.

Posting my elbow on the armrest, I watched the passing scenery.

We drove by a church cemetery, mildly neglected, in need of a weedwhacker.

The headstones were darkened by the rain.

I pulled up a picture of my parents. I’m not going to go see you guys tonight at the cemetery, I thought. I want to visit when it’s dry and sunny. When I’m in a better mood and handling things.

My attention caught on a mother walking with her toddler posted on her hip. She had a broad umbrella with fanciful colors covering them. The toddler held her legs straight out, I guessed, so her yellow rain boots with big googly eyes and duck-billed toes didn’t slip off her feet. Her little baby's arms were tight around her mom’s neck, and she looked like she might just close her eyes for a nap.

And just like that, I was back wading around in my memories:

My dad’s funeral had been on a rainy day.

I had hidden under the overwide umbrella in a black dress and my gray rain boots with the splashes of bright pink roses. My hands rested on the wheelchair handles as I looked down at the pale skin of my mom’s scalp. I found myself counting the thin strands of hair that still held in place, that defied her medications’ decree that they release from their follicles and fall away.

How odd that those few strands of brown felt like perseverance. Like hope.

She reached up, and I wrapped her ice-cold fingers in mine.

Spyder stood to my side with the umbrella handle in his tight grip. I could feel his energy radiating outward, encircling Mom and me.

That was unusual.

Like most of the special operators I knew, Spyder typically wore his energy next to his skin. He was usually vacuum-sealed in it. Spyder said those who learned to manipulate their auras survived; they were less visible to the enemy.

I wondered if that was how death found my dad. His aura was expansive and bright.

The Unitarian minister hovered over Dad’s coffin and raised her hands in benediction just as the sharp crack of lightning snapped at the clouds like a whip lashing out to move things along. The imperative was met by thunderous hooves galloping across the sky, making my dad’s friends pull in tightly and cower against each other.

The reverberations in the air made me shiver.

We hadn’t expected rain that day. I looked down at the wheels on Mom’s chair and watched them sink deeper into the clay. I wondered how we’d get her out of here after Dad was lowered into the ground.

None of this was something I had imagined.

I knew that the possibility of going to my mom’s funeral was very real. It was only a matter of time before her illness claimed her.

Well, that was true for everyone, wasn’t it? A matter of time until we died. But that time had seemed out in the distance when I thought about me, or Spyder, or Dad.

Dad was so strong and vibrant. He sparked with energy and vitality.

My mom… Well, the doctor said he didn’t know how long Mom had for sure. He said that it helped that Mom had a spirit hungry for life. Though if you looked at her that day, you’d say that spirit had been chewed up and swallowed down by her pain.

That they were lowering Dad into the ground, as my mom sank into the mud by his side… It just wasn’t what I had prepared myself for.

“May his soul rest, and may all of his friends, family, and loved ones find peace,” the minister concluded.

Spyder put his hand on my shoulder, and I turned to look at him. “Lexi, I need you to hold the umbrella over us. I’m going to carry your mother to the car.”

Obediently, I reached for the handle and watched my dad’s best friend scoop Mom into his arms.

Spyder was incredibly strong. He lifted my mom with reverence.

She looked so fragile. Drained of life force. Bereft.

Bereft was a good word. It glued together the sound “bare” and the sound you make when you’re sucker-punched in the stomach. That’s how I felt. I was seventeen, and I’d lost my hero, my dad; it certainly felt like a blow to my diaphragm.

Like I couldn’t breathe.

Like I was going to die.

Dutifully following along beside Spyder, I had to reach my arm straight up to cover his head with the umbrella.

We settled into the car and headed back to the church for lunch. There were far too many people who came to pay their respects than would fit into our tiny apartment.

I sat in