Shoes scraping, Boyd ran for the car. Grace followed, while Hoc tore after the scooter that skidded out from behind the garage, almost spinning out of control when it jumped the curb and fishtailed down the street.

Belying his age, Boyd slid across the top of the hood. He was in the car and starting it before Grace had even lifted the latch to the door. "I hate it when they run," she muttered as she fastened her seat belt, knowing Boyd wasn't going to slow down for anything. He liked a good chase as much as she did.

Hoc was vanishing down the avenue after Zach. The boy was hunched on his bike, no helmet, sneakers and a white T-shirt making him look vulnerable. Impressed his cycle was still running, Grace reached for the radio, her hand dropping in disgust. Damn, he had fried it.

"No, wait! Come back!" his mother was crying as she ran down the cobbled walk, her hands waving. Boyd hit the gas, and Grace rechecked her belt.

"I don't know if I should be impressed or worried as all hell that he didn't stall his bike," Boyd said, and Grace reached out the open window to put a flashing light on the roof as they raced through an empty four-way stop.

They weren't gaining, and knowing that she could find Hoc anywhere given enough time, Grace braced herself against a turn and tried to open the map. The GPS was gone, too. It wasn't hard to insulate a vehicle, but all the little gadgets were harder. That Zach had enough power to unconsciously short out their watches yet enough control to save his bike said a lot. Successfully bringing him in might get her enough kudos to demand a transfer to the elite. It wasn't that she didn't like collecting, but she wanted more-so much so that it hurt.

"Steak dinner says he's heading for the expressway," Grace said as they careened around the corner. Zach was taking them through a small cluster of light commercial buildings, and people scrambled back onto the sidewalk as cars beeped at them. "He's going to have to go through an industrial park. Take the next main right. We can cut him off."

Hand gripping the car frame, Grace braced her feet as Boyd jostled over a railroad track. Just that fast, they were free of people, and Boyd stepped on the gas. The wind pushed through her hair, and she leaned forward, enjoying it. Grace squinted past the waving strands as Boyd raced down a dusty industrial road, lights flashing but no siren.

Zach had fried their watches, so anything that happened from here on out could be justified as necessary force, but no one would thank them if this ended with the local power grid collapsing. Blaming the power outage on a squirrel caught in a transformer only worked once. All she cared about though was finding Zach before he learned enough to become a real threat-if it wasn't too late already. There were ways to increase the amount of ergs you could throw, and figuring out that cup of coffee in the morning was why you could now toast your bread with a finger was not hard.

She could feel him . . . a spot of energy sizzing like a worn tension wire, and she pulled her windblown hair out of her mouth. "I think we're in front of him," she said, and Boyd nodded.

"I can hear his bike. How do you want to do this?"

Grace thought of the blast of polarity that had exploded from Zach when he had run, frying their car's gadgets and stopping their watches. He had enough aptitude and guts to know how to use it, and probably enough caffeine in him to accidentally kill someone. "I'm open to suggestions . . ."

Taking a slow breath, Boyd reached into an inner jacket pocket and pulled out a candy bar.

Seeing it, Grace felt herself go cold. "Boyd . . ." she warned, turning where she sat as he slowed the car and parked in the shade of a quiet building. Caffeine could boost their power, but it made their abilities unpredictable. It wasn't illegal for them to eat it, but like a drug, it was easy to get hooked, lured into believing you could handle the increased power until they found you dead of an overdose, your heart fried by your own brain. Shit. He said he'd been having balance issues . . .

"You're not going to tell on me, are you?" he said, smiling sickly as he fumbled unfamiliarly at the plastic wrapper.

"Boyd, how long have you been . . . Stop!" she yelled when he crammed half of it in his mouth. "Are you crazy?"

"No, I'm scared," he said around his full mouth. "Grace, I'm losing it. This is the only thing keeping me on the street working."

He got out. Grace sat where she was, stunned. Her partner was a booster. He wasn't able to keep his levels up, and he was relying on self-dosing caffeine to find it. There was an unregistered throw coming at them at forty-five miles per hour on a bike, and her partner was going to do something incredibly stupid.

She looked at her watch, having forgotten Zach had fried it. Outside the car, Boyd crouched to look in the window. Guilt pinched his aged eyes. "He's insulated his bike. I need to give it one hell of a pull. I can't do it without the boost. I'll stop the bike, you stop him."

"Then you'd better drop him, because I'm not chasing after him if you're high on caffeine," she said, and the sound of the bike grew closer. Damn it, her partner was boosting. How long? How long had he been doing this?

"I only ate half," he grumped as she got out. "I know what I'm doing!"

Boyd gestured for her to cross the street to get out of his blast radius. Nervous, she jogged across the broken cement, not liking this but not knowing what else to do. Boyd had been throwing energy longer than she'd been alive. She remembered eating her Halloween candy as a little girl, and then exploding pumpkins afterward to get rid of the extra energy. It hadn't been the pumpkins that had given her away to the authorities.

The brum, brum of the bike grew louder, and Boyd ambled out into the middle of the street, adjusting his suit to look like a gunslinger. "Zach! Stop your bike!" he shouted when the scared kid turned a corner and slowed, taking in the new situation. Grace tensed when he gunned it.

"Bad choice," she said, checking her motion to run into the street when the kid angled his bike right at her partner.

Boyd calmly scooped up a bent pipe, swinging it dramatically in a loop over his head, gathering the energy his cells could burn in a day into one microsecond pulse. With a yell that echoed as loud as the bike, he threw the pipe at the bike.

Zach swerved and the pipe hit the ground in front of him. Hitting him wasn't Boyd's intention, and Grace's brow pinched in fear when a visible line of blue energy arched from Boyd to the pipe, stretching between them as a bridge of power.

A sparkle of black raced from Boyd's outstretched hand following the trace. It hit the pipe and jumped to Zach. Grace cowered, hiding her head when a boom of force exploded from it, knocking Zach from his bike and shattering windows. In the distance, a car alarm went off. Even farther away, an industrial klaxon began honking. Now we've done it, she thought as Hoc limped into view at the end of the street. Seeing her, he loped forward.

Zach's bike slid twenty feet, without Zach on it. The kid slowly sat up, his jeans torn and his arm bleeding. Her eyes darted to her partner. He was down on one knee, and as she watched, Boyd clutched at his left arm and fell to both his knees.

"Boyd!" she screamed, running to him.

Zach staggered to his feet. "I'm not ever going to be one of you!" he cried out, shambling into a shaky run.

She slid to a stop beside Boyd. He was ashen faced, his expression drawn and in pain. "Boyd, are you breathing? Is your heart okay?" she exclaimed, holding his shoulders and keeping him upright.

"I'm okay," he wheezed, clearly not. "Get the . . . little bastard."

She hesitated in indecision, and he pushed her to go as Hoc limped up to them, his ears down and his tail tucked.

"Get him!" Boyd shouted, shoving her again. "I'm okay!"

Breathless, she stood. Feeling she was making a mistake, she looked at the silent buildings. "Hoc. Who do you love?" she said, using the words for him to find throws among innocent children.

Hoc brightened at the clear order, and he ran to a closed machinist shop across the street. Heart despairing, she followed, thinking of the chocolate bar Boyd had eaten. She couldn't hide what he'd done, but by the looks of it, he'd been boosting for some time. God! Her partner was playing with fire. How was she going to explain this?

The tip of Hoc's tail flashed white as he slipped into the building ahead of her, and she followed. The three-story echoing building was dark, the windows boarded up, and she listened as she tried to slow her breathing as her eyes adjusted. Hoc was deep in the building somewhere, and a sharp, angry bark brought her head up to the old offices that ringed the upper floor.

"Upstairs. Why can't it ever be down?" she panted as she grabbed the cold iron pipe banister and started up. A wave of force passed through her, and she yelped, letting go of the metal. Outside came the pop of a transformer blowing. Shit.

But when Hoc yipped in pain, her heart thumped.

"Hoc!" Scared, she thumped up the stairs, two at a time. The sun made a dirty smear of light through the dirt-caked skylights ten feet above her head. Dusty beams almost a foot wide made a long aisle of empty space where work desks once stood. The sound of breaking glass drew her attention to Zach kicking out a window at the far end of the room. He looked at her, flipping her off before he angled a foot through the new opening and slipped onto the roof of the adjacent building.

Hoc was down on the dusty floor, and she ran to him, sliding to a kneel and gathering his head up into her hands. His gums were pale when she pulled his lips back, and there was no breath coming from his nose.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed after Zach as she dug her hands into Hoc's fur, finding his skin with hers. Her dog. He had tried to kill her dog!

Pushed by her grief, she sent her thoughts deep into the core of her body. Frantic, she exhaled, willing the energy in her body to shift, to flow in an ever-growing wave from her feet to her hands buried in Hoc's ruff. A blast such as Boyd's lacked finesse, and the control for this was exacting. Too much, and she would kill Hoc outright. Too little, and she would fail to restart his heart and he would die. She could have gone into the medical field if she hadn't had her sights set on the elite.

Between the space of one heartbeat and the next, Grace gathered all the free energy in her, then spun her thoughts around again and again until she had drawn an entire day's worth of energy into her hands. It had to be perfect, and the strain of holding it back ached through her.

"Hoc!" she cried, releasing her hold. With a tiny pop, the energy dove from her, struggling to equalize. It arced through the dog, jolting him.

Sobbing, Grace felt her hands slip from Hoc as the room dim with the light eking in the dirty windows began to spin. She couldn't get enough air, but to take a deep breath seemed like too hard a task. Her body was depleted. It had been too much. It hadn't been enough.

Cold, she fell over.

A wet nose nudged her, wiggling under her arm and snuggling against her. Relief penetrated the thick haze, making it hard to think. Hoc was alive, his back nails digging painfully into her as he tried to get closer. Mumbling, her eyes closed and she shushed him.

It would be okay, she thought, smiling as she slowly lost consciousness, her body struggling to recover. It would be okay.

TWO.

The greasy smell of fat-slap layered itself over the scents of antiseptic and latex in a familiar, yet totally unappetizing smell that reminded her of her early days in the Strand, a young girl struggling to find her place and her balance, both in her body and with those around her.

Not much has changed, Grace thought sourly as she adjusted the collar of her borrowed sweat suit and continued down the hospital's hall in a slow, steady pace to hide her fatigue. She hated sweats, but the gown she'd left in the nurse's gym was even worse. She couldn't sneak out wearing a gown. Sweats would be hard enough. Hoc at her heel didn't help, either, but the dog had refused to leave her side and was known enough in the compound to be allowed to stay. As the only border collie on base, Hoc stood out.

Grace tried to give off an air of health and efficiency as she nodded smartly to the orderly standing at the elevator. Suspicious, he angled to watch her as she passed the nurses' desk, Hoc's nails clicking on the tile. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, but she was still on hospital grounds. She could be down here if she wanted.

The commissary was on this level, and the smell of fat-slap was making her feel nauseated, even as she found her stomach rumbling. The protein-rich slop was full of complex carbs and slow-digesting proteins that would help regulate her body chemistry, but it tasted worse than its name sounded. That she would devour it ravenously when her reserves were depleted as they were now was just disgusting.

Grace breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator dinged, and she snapped her fingers for Hoc's attention and continued down the hall as the orderly forgot about her. She was looking for Boyd, not having much luck since the nurses on her floor were taciturn and uncooperative, and word got around. She didn't need coddling; she needed to be moving. It wasn't the first time she'd depleted herself into exhaustion. It wouldn't be the last.

Hoc in tow, Grace passed an informal living room with wide windows looking out onto the parking lot and the sun-drenched park beyond. The sterile furniture looked hardly comfortable enough for a quick sit-down to catch your breath before hobbling back to your room. The room was empty, but Hoc's ears had pricked, his pace expectant as he trotted ahead of her a few doors and nosed one open.

A welcoming hail drifted into the hall, and Grace's slight frown eased. Recognizing Boyd's voice, she knocked with one knuckle on the thick, overly large door, smiling as the almost-baby-talk of her partner to Hoc turned into a more confident "Come in, Grace."

Still smiling, she eased in past the door. The low morning sun spilled into the private room. Boyd was up, sitting at the tiny table, his robe showing his hairy legs and bony feet in his bland slippers as he gave Hoc an expert ear rub, the dog happily standing with his front paws on the man's knees. It was probably the first time she'd ever seen Boyd out of a suit, and he looked vulnerable and tired with his gray hair untidy and uncombed. But that was not why her smile froze and faded.

Jason.

The tall, slim man had pushed himself up from the low dresser he'd been sitting against as she had entered, the sun catching his blond hair and the metallic thread woven into his uniform. His expression was confident, his eyes calmly watching her from under his bangs as he waited to see how she was going to react before he reacted in turn. He was like that, and it irritated her how good he was at putting his emotions aside to get the better of an argument.

They'd entered the Strand on the same day, both of them on the same track of study, both aiming for the elite. They'd come from different paths, hers one of shame and fear, his from the joy of discovery and proud parents. Determined to outdo each other when they realized they had the same goals, they bound their fates together. His love had taken the place of the anger in her soul, but he'd been promoted when she had not, and when he won a place in the elite and she was passed over one too many times, they parted ways. Jason wasn't her boss, but as a member of the elite, he outranked her, able to give her orders she was required to follow. The fact that he was here chatting with her partner was not good.

"Jason," she said evenly in greeting, and the two men exchanged an unreadable look. "Good to see you," she lied, forcing her jaw to unclench. My God, it had been four years.

Hoc whined, dropping from Boyd's knees to come to her. Grace snuck a look at her hospital wrist monitor as she ruffled his mane, and he lay down almost on her feet. It wasn't her usual watch hanging about her wrist, the hospital-grade monitor recording milliseconds of erg imbalances. She hadn't been able to take it off like she had the peekaboo gown, and it was irksome. She wasn't an invalid, and it probably had an insulated, building-wide GPS in it.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up," Boyd said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Sit. You want some fat-slap? They gave me enough for six people."

He'd turned back to his breakfast, and Grace unwedged her feet from under Hoc. "No thanks," she said as she came forward to give Boyd a hug. He never put his fork down as he gave her a sideways embrace, gesturing again for her to sit. The smell of the fat-slap made her stomach growl, but she wasn't going to eat it even if she was starving. She'd had three portions already this morning. "You're looking good."

Boyd smiled, saluting her with his fork before shoveling in some more. He looked wan, pale with more than the expected drain, especially when his efforts yesterday had been caffeine assisted. The sun coming in made gaunt shadows on his face, accentuating his wrinkles. Sure, he was in his late fifties, but he was sharp as a tack. Three days, and they'd be back on the street looking for Zach.

So why is Jason here?

"Why are you here?" she said bluntly as the man knelt to pet Hoc. The dog had always liked him. He'd been with her when she'd rescued him from the pound.

Jason looked up, making her breath catch with the memories that came back when their eyes met. "Looking for you," he said simply, and her jaw clenched at his voice rolling through her, pulling even more memories into existence. "I figured this would be the best place to start, seeing as the women's nurse desk said you'd left against their orders."

"Not yet, but I'm working on it." She knew he'd smell like gun oil and leather if she got closer, and she forced her jaw to unclench. Again. "How you doing?" she asked Boyd.

The older man eyed them both, fork never slowing. "Fine. I'm not the one they found passed out."

Grace reached a hand down to draw the dog away from Jason. "Hoc is my buddy. I'd do the same for you."

"Almost needed to, from what I heard," Jason said softly, his eyes averted.

Lips pressed, she crossed her arms over her chest and sat on the edge of the untidy bed, one leg drawn up under her so she could face Jason. "They have you behind a desk yet?"

"No, but they're trying."

Damn it, he was smiling at her, and she tried not to fume. It wasn't his fault he'd been promoted. It was her fault for not keeping up. She enjoyed working with Boyd, wouldn't have changed anything. And yet . . .

Both men went silent, and a stab of uncertainty went through her. "What," she said flatly, and Boyd set his fork down.

"Grace," the older man started, and she stiffened, looking from Boyd to Jason's unhappy expression and back to Boyd's resignation.

Shit. "You're fine," she said quickly. "Look at you. That unregistered throw was pulling power like he'd been in the Strand for three years, and you used exactly the right force to stop him, no more. It's only going to take a day or two for you to get balanced."

"Grace."

"Hell, it's going to take me that long just to equalize my balance."

"Grace, I'm transferring to the Island."

Her breath went out and didn't come back in again. Cold, she sat back on the edge of the bed, feeling as if she'd been kicked in the gut. "You're not that bad . . ." she whispered, hating that Jason was standing there, a pitying expression on his face.

"Short term. For evaluation," her partner said, but he wouldn't look at her as he pushed his tray away. He was lying.

"But you look great!" she said again. The Island was where they sent half the kids they brought in. It was part hospital, part mental ward, part butcher where they burned out your abilities if you proved to be a danger to society and wouldn't work within the system.

Boyd shifted his chair, looking old in his white robe. "I'm great here," he said, taking her fingers and touching his head with his free hand. "But here is another story," he added, bringing her cold fingers to his heart.

Jason cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable as he shuffled to the door. "Excuse me, I have to take a call," he said, closing the door softly behind him.

Coward, she thought, her confusion and dismay turning to anger. "They're making you do this, aren't they?" she said hotly, seeing Jason's presence in a new way. "Boyd-"

"Listen to me," he interrupted, but she shook her head, pulse racing as Hoc whined. Boyd had been her partner since day one, her surrogate family when she'd lost all but her grandmother. He couldn't just leave!

"Everyone uses caffeine once in a while. You know when to stop. You're not a addict!"

"Will you shut up!" he said loudly. "I'm trying to tell you something!"

Grace closed her mouth, wide-eyed and panicking. Her world was shifting, and she could do nothing about it.

"Grace, I'm losing it," he said softly, his hands taking hers. "I've been boosting on and off for the last three years just to keep up. I thought I could handle it. I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner. I know you're scared."

"I'm not scared," she said, mouth dry.

"I've talked my options over with Jason. I'm going to the Island to get detoxed and reevaluated."

"Liar," she whispered, and his eye twitched. There was only one reason anyone went to the Island this late in their career. He was leaving her. He was going to get himself burned out and be normal. "You're my partner," she pleaded, sitting down in the chair across from him, still holding his hands in hers. "I don't want another."

He smiled, looking like the father she wished she had had as he took one of his hands from her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm ready to be done," he said, his eyes pinched. "And you are ready for a new partner. You're not too old to train up a new throw. Maybe the same kid who slipped us. Zach has a knack. Lots of power. Just needs some guidance. Like you did not so long ago."