by Jami Gray
Her unvarnished sincerity managed to sneak under my guard, leaving me with an ache. “You aren’t.”
“I am,” she said, sounding uncharacteristically hard and unyielding. “I’m in so many pieces that there’s no way I’m going to be able to find them all. I’m never going to be who I was.”
“No, you won’t.” Determined to drag her out of the well of self-pity she was getting ready to swim in, I hauled her back with a dose of harsh pragmatism. “You can’t be. You survived six months of hell, and you’ll carry those scars forever. There’s no escaping that—it’s done. Now you have to choose how you’ll move forward—bent and cowed, or head up and fearless?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Isn’t it?” I shot her a look. “Seems to me, considering where we’re heading, you’ve already made your choice.” I turned back to my driving, letting silence fill the space between us and hoping I got through because this fight was hers alone to face.
Chapter Seven
With Bishop’s reality check reverberating in my brain, the rest of the trip to Wolf’s passed in a blur. It was a struggle to match the way Bishop saw me to how I saw myself, but by the time we pulled up to the curb outside a well-cared-for bungalow, I’d somehow managed to pull enough pieces of myself together to create a credible version of a functioning human. Yay, me.
Bishop parked behind a truck with the shine typical of a new vehicle. I had my seatbelt undone, the door open, and a foot to the ground when he came up to my side with a hand out. Unable to resist and doing my best to avoid his gaze, I put my hand in his, finding comfort in his touch, and let him help me out of the Jeep. That was as far as I got, because he didn’t back away. Instead, he held his position, trapping me in the open doorway, and squeezed my hand. My gaze flew up.
He asked quietly, “You ready?”
Not trusting my voice, I nodded.
He nudged me to his side and beeped the locks then kept hold of my hand as we walked up the pathway to the porch. The neat yard ended at a riot of colorful flowers lining the front edge of the porch and the bay window. Someone clearly sported a green thumb or two, which didn’t quite jibe with my preconceptions of the males associated with Delacourt’s teams. Granted, my interactions with them had been limited to the office, but that was enough to show me that they could all be considered manly men. And very few manly men puttered in gardens, in my experience.
We’d hit the top step when the door opened. My feet froze as the doorway filled with a huge male.
“Hey, you two.” The rough smoker’s voice that came out of the linebacker body was almost as arresting as the pale-green eyes staring down at us.
“Hey,” Bishop said, crowding in behind me, leaving me no choice but to continue forward. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” Wolf stepped back, letting us in. “Come on in. Meli’s in the office on a phone interview.”
“With the convention center?”
Wolf nodded. “Yeah. It’s her third one, so we’re hopeful.” He closed the door and waved us into the front room. “We can chat in here.” We headed in as Wolf followed. “I appreciate you guys coming here. I figured it might be best if we had some privacy for this.”
With Bishop next to me on the couch and Wolf sprawled in the easy chair just to the side, I had a sensation of being trapped, which opened the door for panic to sneak in. He’s here to help. Using that reminder, I concentrated on not freaking out. Tucking my hands underneath my thighs, I curled my fingers into the cushion. Bishop must have picked up on something because he crowded close until all I could feel was him. The panic slipped further away, and the weight on my chest eased.
“Megan,” Wolf said, a hint of gentleness softening his rough voice. I lifted my head and found him watching me. “You’re safe here, I promise.”
Okay, poker was nowhere in my future. I was obviously an open book. Still, there was no missing the sincerity in his voice or his expression, and I managed a jerky nod.
“Just a heads-up,” Bishop cut in. “I’m expecting a call from Rabbit.”
Wolf’s attention shifted to Bishop’s face, and he frowned. “What happened?”
“On the way out of Megan’s appointment, we nearly got mowed down in the parking garage.”
The change in Wolf was immediate. His gaze sharpened, and his body coiled. Even the air in the room sparked with a strange intensity. “Deliberate?”
Bishop’s shoulder brushed mine as he shrugged. “That’s what I’m hoping Rabbit can find out.”
“Huh.” Wolf’s gaze flicked to me and then back to Bishop.
“Yeah,” Bishop muttered as the two men shared a look filled with an entire conversation I wasn’t privy too.
This wasn’t helping my nerves. “Um, Wolf?”
He broke off his silent exchange and turned to me. “Yeah?”
“What exactly is involved in this?” I blurted.
The hard lines of Wolf’s face eased, and his tone softened. “Did Bishop or Delacourt explain what we’re going to try to do?”
His compassion threatened to undo my determination to hold it together, so I tried to ignore it and choked out, “A little.”
Wolf rubbed a hand over his bald head before leaning forward, his arms braced on his knees. “Delacourt said you were worried someone had messed with your mind. To find out if you have a reason to be worried, I’m going to use something similar to hypnotic regression. Do you know what that is?”
I could guess, but I didn’t want to, so I shook my head.
“Hypnotic regression is part of regression therapy, which is an approach to dealing with trauma. It’s a way for a survivor to revisit a past trauma so they can understand why they’re acting and feeling a certain way.”
This did not sound good. “But I can’t remember what happened.”
Wolf held my gaze. “Not consciously, no, but on some level, you do.”
Whatever tiny pieces of calm I’d managed to salvage went up in a puff of smoke. “You’re a telepath.” It was all I could get out.
“I am.”
“So couldn’t you go in and see for yourself?” That idea terrified me, but not as much as reliving what I couldn’t remember.
Next to me, Bishop stiffened, but he remained silent.
A forbidding shadow drifted across Wolf’s face before he regained his calm let’s-talk-the-crazy-person-off-the-edge expression. “I could, but I don’t think that’s wise.”
I couldn’t read his expression, but I also couldn’t look away. “Why?” It came out as a choked whisper as fear left my mouth dry.
Wolf’s gaze flicked to Bishop, who was sitting still and stiff next to me, then came back. “Because if you’re right about being used, it means you survived six months of being tortured by a telepath, and you’re not a vegetable. Which would indicate you have some seriously fucking formidable mental protections in place.” The harsh comment delivered in a gentle tone made me flinch, but he wasn’t done. “Those types of protections would require me to use my ability in such a way that I would do more damage than good.”
His statement reverberated deep within me, and I sensed its intrinsic truth. Darkness rose, filled with mocking whispers of that hated voice, twining through my mind and sucking me back into a nightmare. I didn’t realize that I had pushed to my feet until Bishop used his hold on my wrist to tug me into him, crowding me, blocking me. Desperate to escape, I put my free hand to his chest to push him away, but the arm banded at my waist held me in place.
“Megan.”
I met his eyes, a metallic taste coating my tongue.
He cupped my face. “Breathe.”
I sucked in air as I gripped his T-shirt and forced myself to stop shaking my head. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can.” He was unrelenting. “Head up, and breathe. Wolf won’t hurt you. Neither of us will let anything hurt you, okay?”
I fought back the sickening fear that left me shaky. I had to suck it up. I was here
because I needed to know what was happening, not just for me but for the two men watching me as well. There was no way I could live with myself if I was responsible for destroying Delacourt’s team, and the only way to prevent that outcome was to see this through.
“Stick with me.” He watched as I managed a nod, and after a few tense minutes, he let me go.
It took a bit before I could fight free of the debilitating anxiety, and I only managed because Bishop patiently waited me out. The fear of looking weak in front of the man who stood strong and silent at my side finally allowed me to get my shit together. I carefully reclaimed my seat on the couch. Bishop settled in next to me and took my hand.
Using his touch as an anchor, I dragged in a couple more deep breaths and met Wolf’s eyes. “How do we do this?”
Time lost meaning as I followed Wolf’s directions down the mental rabbit hole. I was drifting in a hazy world of nothing when he asked, “Megan, can you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“I need you to open your eyes.”
Right. Hanging around whatever this was wouldn’t get me the answers I needed. With renewed determination, I opened my eyes.
Gray stone walls stared back. I couldn’t stop my instinctive search for the shadowy figure that kept me from slipping over the edge. When the cell remained empty except for me, my heart stopped with a painful punch. For a moment, I couldn’t catch my breath. “No.” The one word escaped in a harsh whisper.
Wolf’s disembodied voice broke through the trepidation shredding my gut. “You’re okay, Megan. Remember, this isn’t real. It’s just memories. Nothing can hurt you.”
His words reminded me that although I couldn’t feel it, I was sitting next to Bishop on a couch in Wolf’s house, not imprisoned in some hellhole of my own creation at the mercy of a monster bent on tearing me apart. Still, it was hard to ignore the skin-crawling sensation of being watched by something or someone malevolent.
Clinging to Wolf’s reassurance, I forced my body to move, making a complete turn. Yep. I was all alone with just the gray walls covered in faded sketches. I could do this. “Where are you?”
“Better question is, where are you?” He sounded disgruntled, like a man who wasn’t used to being ditched. “Because wherever you are, I can’t follow.”
I rubbed my arms as a chill worked over my skin. “The cell.”
“Where Bishop found you?”
“No, the one I made so he couldn’t get to me.”
Something close by growled.
Wolf asked, “He?” He must not have heard the noise, because he didn’t mention it.
The miasma of evil pressed closer, squeezing my voice to nothing, so I simply nodded.
A warmth I was beginning to associate with Bishop stroked my spine and loosened fear’s ugly hold. “You’re safe, Megan. We’ve got you.”
Right, because this isn’t real. Maybe if I kept repeating that, I’d eventually believe it. “I’m good. I can do this.” Maybe. “What now?” There was a pause that lasted long enough to make me worry. “Wolf?”
“Right here.” His response was immediate, but he sounded worried. “I’m just thinking.”
This did not bode well. “Um, is this how it’s supposed to work?”
“Not exactly,” he muttered.
“Not helpful,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Sorry.” There was enough sincerity in the single word to keep me from losing it. “Okay, let’s try this. Can you imagine a door to your cell?”
That seemed simple enough. I stared at the wall, imagining a door. Slowly, one took shape. When it was complete, I said, “Done.”
Frustration laced the rough slide of his voice. “Since I seem to be stuck in some hedge maze from hell, I need you to open it.”
Great. I’m not the only one getting grumpy. Stifling a sigh, I pulled open the door only to suck in a hard breath as my pulse spiked. “Well, that’s not good.”
“What?” Wolf asked sharply.
“I don’t think the door thing worked. There’s a wall on the other side.” I let go of the doorknob and touched the solid stone wall blocking the entry. No chinks. Nothing but a slab of cold, hard, immovable gray. My heart rate picked up, and panic made my voice rise. “Tell me I’m not stuck here.”
“You aren’t stuck,” Wolf said in a soothing tone. “You’re just keeping yourself safe.”
Okay, that’s good, right? “How do I get rid of this?” I asked, frustrated because I knew what Wolf would say.
“I’m not sure you can. At least, not right now. Let’s get you back.”
Nerves and anger collided, and the ground rocked underfoot. No, we weren’t leaving. Not yet. “I need answers.”
“And we’ll find them, just not this way.”
I slammed my hands against the wall as the ground rolled and the light in the cell dimmed. “Break, dammit.”
“Stop it, Megan!”
Wolf’s command was sharp to the point of being painful. I couldn’t ignore it. I dropped my head between my hands until my forehead rested against the cool wall. Self-disgust rose fast and hard, bringing the hot press of useless, stupid tears that threatened to fall. “I need to know what he did to me.”
“And we’ll find out,” Wolf said. “Just not this way.”
With no other outlet, I slapped the wall and turned away with a growl, brushing off the moisture clinging to the corners of my eyes. I stood in the center of the cell, arms folded over my chest, glaring at nothing. “Now what?”
“Close your eyes, and count backward from ten.”
I had to try twice, thanks to the frustration and resentment playing hell with my concentration. Finally, I opened my eyes, Wolf’s living room taking shape around me as I blinked against the late afternoon sunlight. Before long, I noticed Bishop was no longer sitting next to me. Frowning, I rubbed my eyes clear and turned to check the metallic art-piece-slash-clock hanging on the wall. What the hell? Stunned, I turned to Wolf, who was leaning forward in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is that clock right?”
He twisted his head until he could follow where I pointed, then he turned back to me. “Yeah.”
“Three hours? We were doing this for three hours?” I was having trouble reconciling this information with the maybe twenty or thirty minutes that had seemed to pass while we were playing around in my mind.
“Time doesn’t work the same for stuff like this.” Wolf stood up and stretched.
My body decided to chime in with its own complaints about sitting in one position for three hours.
“Wolf.” Near the archway, Bishop pushed up off the wall he was leaning against. “What happened?”
Wolf shot me a considering look. “Megan’s got some serious self-protections in place.”
“This mean you can’t help?”
I was grateful that Bishop asked, because I couldn’t seem to find the courage to do it myself.
Wolf shook his head. “It means I need to check a couple of things with someone before we do this again.”
The fact that he didn’t just say no blunted my disappointment, but his answer carried a note that left me worried. “What kind of things?”
“Who?” Bishop’s question collided with mine as he headed toward me.
Wolf looked between Bishop and me. “I need to talk to Ricochet.”
Stopping at my side, Bishop frowned at Wolf as he offered me a hand. “Ricochet? Why?”
“He may have a solution for how to get through Megan’s protections.”
My last fragile bubble of hope popped. Great. Why the hell are we considering bringing someone else into this? “Someone want to explain how this Ricochet trumps a telepath?” I ignored Wolf’s look as I took Bishop’s hand and got stiffly to my feet. “Because I’m not sold on hosting a free-for-all in my head.” I knew that was really snarky, but I wasn’t feeling all that accommodating.
Both men ignored me. Figures.
Bishop asked, “Is Rico even available?”
Wolf grimaced. “I don’t know, but I think it’s imperative we get ahold of him.”
Bishop let me go and aimed his question at Wolf. “Why?”
Yeah, why? As much as I wanted to echo Bishop’s question, I refrained. Well, verbally at least. Wolf shot me a look, raising an eyebrow as grim humor worked behind his eyes.
“Because what’s keeping me out isn’t another telepath. It’s just you.”
“Me?” It was my turn to wince, because I’d forgotten what it meant to be in the presence of a telepath. I guess he really can read my mind.
“Yes, you.” Those eerie sea-green eyes watched me carefully. “If I remember correctly, your file indicated that your brother and sister are both psychic, right?”
Nodding, I wrapped my arms around my middle, not liking where Wolf seemed to be heading.
“What are their abilities?”
I normally didn’t share that information, but considering who I was talking to… I swallowed against my suddenly dry throat. “No one can lie to Dev, like, ever, and Kellie can connect with animals.”
“And what can you do?” he prodded carefully.
“Nothing.” A building dread made my voice low and rough.
Wolf didn’t say anything, just continued to study me. His expression set off all my self-preservation alarms, and I took a step back only to bump into something. Twisting my neck, I found Bishop behind me, his hand going to my hip to hold me in place.
“I’m not.” I turned back to Wolf, choking on distress. “I’ve never done anything remotely psychic.”
Wolf’s gaze lifted above my head, and he arched a brow at Bishop in silent question. When Wolf winced, I started to twist to see Bishop’s face, but his hands tightened, holding me in place.
Wolf turned back to me, sympathy washing through his features. “I don’t think that’s entirely true anymore, Megan.”
I was stunned. When I finally found my voice, it came out a little on the high side. “You can’t just turn psychic, Wolf. You’re either born that way or not.”