Fractured by Deceit

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Fractured by Deceit Page 11

by Jami Gray


  The need to hold on to what he was telling me was so strong it hurt, but I—we—couldn’t afford for him to be wrong. Not to mention that paranoia was a hell of a head trip. “You don’t know that. Maybe it’s part of their plan.” As he held me in place, I wrapped my hands around his wrists and squeezed. “You’re not infallible, Bishop, no matter how much you know things. Haven’t you ever been wrong?”

  His expression closed down suddenly. With a sharp twist, he freed his wrists from my hold and pulled away. Stunned, I twisted in my seat and scrambled for the door, my mouth moving ahead of my brain. “Right, sorry, not my business.” Hurt joined the myriad of other feelings vying for my attention, but before I could make my escape, he spoke.

  “Once. I was wrong once. Years ago.”

  No matter how neutral he kept his voice, I could tell I had tripped a trigger. My frantic movements stilled, but I didn’t dare to look back at him. Instead, I rested my forehead against the cool glass. “Bishop, you don’t—”

  “It was just after graduation. I took a road trip with my best bud, Austin. He never came home.”

  I didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to add his pain—lying under his oh-so-rational tone—to mine, but I’d chosen to open my big mouth, so now I would deal with the damage I’d caused. Lifting my head, I turned back, but he wasn’t done.

  “There were four of us—Austin and his girlfriend, Terri, me, and Austin’s twin, Becca.” He turned to the windshield with its uninspiring view of the garage doors, a muscle jumping in his jaw, his hand tight on the steering wheel. “We were heading to Seattle to spend a week messing around before Austin and I were to report for basic. We had a cabin rented at Lake Sammamish. From our home in Montana, it’s a straight shot along I-90. But just as we passed the Snoqualmie Casino, I told Austin to take an alternate route because I knew if we kept going, we’d end up in an accident. By the time I realized we were on the same route I’d tried to avoid, it was too late.” He stopped, the silence spilling into the tension-filled space.

  I resisted the urge to touch him, hard though it was, because something told me it would do more harm than good.

  “When the semi in front of us swerved and lost control, Austin managed to avoid it, but we ended up in a ditch. The car rolled three times despite the heavy foliage. The girls and me, we were banged up, had a couple of broken bones, nothing serious, but Austin…” He stared at his hand then flexed his fingers with a pained deliberateness. “A branch came through the driver’s-side window, sliced right along his neck. He bled out before EMS got there.” He finally turned to look at me. There was a world of guilt and grief in those dark eyes. It hurt to look at them—and it hurt even worse to hear the remorse in his voice. “So yeah, I’ve been wrong, but it only took once to ensure that I don’t ever make a similar mistake again.”

  “Okay,” I said quietly. There was nothing I could say to assuage the guilt he carried, even if he let me. “Okay.” I looked away, not sure I could hide my doubts from him. However, I needed a way to guide him back from the nightmare I’d inadvertently awaken him. Since he was certain that I wasn’t the threat I feared I was, there was no use arguing any further. Instead, it was time to focus on what I could do to help.

  Floundering, I tried to determine exactly what that was. I settled for changing the topic. The terrifying possibility Wolf had raised about my possible psychic ability drifted to front and center, and I chose to tackle it. Swallowing hard, I did my best to keep my voice from shaking. “You believe Wolf’s right, don’t you? About me being a dream-walker?”

  It took a few moments before he rumbled, “Yes… with Rico’s help, you should be able to regain control of your dreams. Once you manage that, we can turn the tables on whoever this guy is.” He paused, and I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. “If you take control of the dreamworld, it’ll be our turn to get the answers we need to nail whoever’s behind this.”

  And that doesn’t sound dramatically dire or daunting at all. Suppressing a shiver, I sought comfort in the fact Bishop was offering the possibility of gaining some control over this mess. If he was right, I might be able to stop the nightmares. I wasn’t as sure as he was about my ability to turn the tables, but arguing would accomplish nothing but prolong an argument I couldn’t win.

  “Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” Pulling in a deep breath, I raised my head, taking note that many of the streetlights had fallen dark while we sat there. A few nearby houses had turned on their porch lights, but Bishop’s house remained unlit. “We should probably head in before someone decides to call the cops because they think we’re casing your place.” My attempt at humor fell flat—Bishop just nodded and got out.

  I used my few seconds of alone time in the car to gather my wobbly composure. Unfortunately, the best I could do was stand there as a formidable avalanche of change bore down on me. I just hoped I could keep my balance as chaos made the ground under my feet buckle. When this was done, maybe I would look into a career as a bull rider. It might be easier—and safer. That off-the-wall thought warned me that I was closer to hysteria than I wanted to admit.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face. “Buck up, buttercup,” I muttered.

  I reached for the door, but it opened before I could touch it, and Bishop was there. “Come on, before you fall asleep on your feet.”

  Not bothering to tell him that sleep wasn’t on my radar, I took the hand he offered. We were partway down the curving walkway when I remembered my bag. I came to stop and tugged my hand out of his hold. “I forgot my bag.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  I waited, taking in the neighborhood. Lights flashed over Bishop as he leaned in to grab my bag from the back seat. A car drove by and turned into a drive a few houses down as the nearby streetlights flickered back to life.

  The neighborhood was an eclectic mix of bungalows, ranch houses, and renovated mid-century homes. The jumble of architecture added a unique charm to the area. Plus, it was quiet, which wasn’t a surprise since it sat up in the hills. It was not exactly the place I expected Bishop to call home, but I liked it.

  I was caught up in my musing, and when Bishop’s hand landed on my hip, I let out a startled yip.

  He stared down at me with a frown. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Just spaced for a moment.”

  The lines in his face eased as he nudged me along the walkway toward the door. “Understandable. It’s been a hell of a day.” We trudged up the short steps, and his hand disappeared as he unlocked the door and held it open. “Make yourself at home.”

  I stepped into an open entryway to be greeted by the warm oak tones of the floor and the professional two-tone beige wall common in rentals. I moved to the side so Bishop would have room to pass. He hit a switch, and the light in the overhead ceiling fan burst into life, illuminating an oversized leather sectional and a squat, cluttered coffee table facing a large wall-mounted flat-screen TV. Over by some bookcases housing music, books, and stereo equipment was a stack of boxes.

  Seeing the crumpled newspaper huddled inside the top box, I asked, “Did you just move in?”

  He set my bag on the end of the couch. “A couple of months ago. Haven’t really had time to unpack.” He skirted the couch and headed into the kitchen. “You want something to drink or anything?”

  “No, I’m good, thanks.” I slowly followed him. “So it’s just you and Rabbit?”

  He opened a cabinet and pulled down a glass. “Jinx tends to be around, but otherwise, yeah.” He went to the fridge, and the rattle of ice dropping into the glass took over. When it was replaced by the glug of water, he continued. “Tag was Rabbit’s roommate, but once he and Risia hooked up, they wanted their own place. Unfortunately that meant Rabbit needed a new place and a new roommate.” The glass filled, he turned and came to stand with me by the pub-style table. “The lease on my apartment was up, the buddy I was rooming with was planning on relocating, so I took Rabbit up on his offer.”

  “It�
��s a cool neighborhood.”

  “And quiet, which is more than I can say for my apartment down by the base.”

  Yeah, I bet it is. With the tourists and the density of buildings over by Coronado, it was hard to find a quiet place in a reasonable price range. Heck, nowadays, it was hard to find anything affordable in San Diego, period, a fact I wasn’t looking forward to when it was my turn to go apartment hunting.

  “Well, you got lucky.”

  “Yeah, I did.” He set the glass down. “Want a tour?”

  “Sure.”

  It didn’t take us long to go through the rest of the house. Besides the open kitchen-living room, there were two bedrooms, both with en-suite baths, a half bath located just off the hall for guests, and a third room that I assumed was meant to be an office, based on the lack of a closet, but was currently cluttered with boxes, a weight set, and a couple of bikes. And that was just what I could see from the door.

  After following Bishop back to the living room, I flopped onto the couch. Sinking into the surprisingly comfortable cushions, I stretched out and sighed, exhaustion sweeping in. My eyes drifted closed. I just needed a minute.

  Warmth wrapped around my ankle, but I couldn’t find the energy to open my eyes.

  “Hey, you falling asleep on me?”

  “Mmm,” was the best I could manage.

  His hand lifted from my ankle, and the cushions under me shifted—not much but enough to register. I drifted in a half-awake state, grateful when nothing lurked in the corners. The cushions under me shifted, and I lifted my eyelids enough to see Bishop crouched next to me.

  When he caught me watching, he smiled. He leaned in, and thanks to my drowsy state, nothing stopped me from reaching out to pet the burnished shadow along his jaw. He caught my hand with his, holding it still as he turned and pressed a soft kiss to my palm. The tenderness of his action eased that aching fear I couldn’t shake.

  I curled my hand closed and pulled it down, holding that small bit of comfort close. My position suddenly shifted as he lifted me from the couch and cradled me against his chest. I managed a mumbled, “What are you doing?” even as I curled into his chest.

  “I need a shower.” His voice was a quiet rumble under my ear. “And I’m not comfortable leaving you sleeping out here. You can crash in my bed.”

  Mmmm, that sounded like a great idea. To share my appreciation with his idea, I pressed a soft kiss against his throat. His arms tightened and he carried me out of the living room as my eyelids rose, fell, rose, and fell again.

  When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t moving and he was tucking my hair behind an ear. “Sleep, Megan. You’re safe.”

  Exhausted and reassured, I curled deeper into the comfortable bed, unable to fight the pull of sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  BISHOP

  Standing under the pounding spray of the shower, I dropped my head onto my arm, which was braced against the tile wall, and tried not to think about the woman sleeping on my couch. Hunger, bright and vicious, spiraled through me. Not just the normal lust-filled want I was used to, this was something sharper, deeper. Hell, I didn’t even need my ability to understand that Megan had stolen a piece of me that no one else had managed to find. It didn’t matter that it had only been two fucking days. Even before I’d rescued her, she’d teased me with possibilities. It started back when the colonel had me investigate her disappearance. The more I delved into her life, the more real she became to me, more so than any other woman I’d spent time with. Then she started haunting my dreams.

  Once I had gotten her out of the hellhole, it was all I could do to limit my time at the hospital to once a day. Even Wolf had raised an eyebrow at my routine visits. Now that she was in my house, there wasn’t a chance in hell of me walking away. In fact, I was hiding in the shower because as much as I would have enjoyed curling up with Megan, it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, at least not if the itch under my skin was any indication. That itch was a good indicator that we couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t a knowing but a common-sense knowledge based on experience.

  I might not be able to hide Megan from whoever was stalking her dreams—something I hoped to change once we had a sit-down with Rico—but I sure as shit could keep her physical location on the q.t. I had no doubt that Falcon was using someone close to the colonel to hunt Megan and, by extension, the teams. They had to be close enough to know how and when to strike, which meant they probably had access to each team member’s basic information, such as home addresses and contacts. That would have required a high-security clearance, which would explain how they knew to wait outside Megan’s doctor’s office and then to hit Keelie’s apartment. Megan might no longer be employed by the colonel, but Delacourt would have kept tabs on her and her schedule.

  I had to hope the more sensitive information, such as what each team member could do, was buried deep enough to keep our hunter blind. It was bad enough that Falcon had enough of their own set of psychic skills to draw accurate conclusions about ours, but keeping the specifics hidden would be our only advantage in this game. The longer we stayed in my house, the more we ran the risk of being cornered, so we needed to disappear that night.

  Of course, that wouldn’t help once I got Megan somewhere safe and she could actually sleep uninterrupted. It had been a risk to leave her sleeping, considering that Falcon’s hunter could slip in and out of her dreams, but she was dead on her feet and barely able to keep her eyes open. Hopefully, her exhaustion would be enough to keep her dreamless. She wasn’t the only one who was tired—exhaustion was riding my ass like my old gunny sergeant—but there’d be no stopping until I had Megan somewhere relatively safe.

  Washing my hair, I evaluated a couple of options, leaning more and more toward an old friend’s condo out on the beach. He still had another month on tour, so the place would be empty, and I had a key since he’d asked me to do an occasional drop-in to make sure it stayed standing. Since it wasn’t easily linked to me or Megan, it should work.

  I started a mental checklist of things we’d need as I rinsed then stepped out to towel off. I was about to hang up my towel when I realized I had forgotten to bring clothes into the bathroom. Well, shit. Normally I’d just waltz into my bedroom, but that might not be the smartest thing to do with Megan curled up in my bed. Not that I expected her to be awake or aware, but a man could hope.

  My overly-optimistic imagination triggered a hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with indulging, no matter how unwise. Shaking my head at both my imagination and even more enthusiastic dick, I wrapped the damp towel around my waist and hit my bedroom, taking care to keep my movements quiet. Seeing her curled up on my bed softened something in my chest. Damn, I had it bad.

  Even understanding the threat that Megan posed, it was hard to remember it when watching her struggle to her feet, hit after hit. The depth of her courage and determination snuck under my caution and found a hidden spot. It didn’t help that she appealed to my tarnished white-knight side in a huge fucking way, even though she didn’t need me to fill that role. How she’d managed to hide all that strength of character while working for Delacourt was beyond me. Then again, when I was in the office, I wasn’t really paying attention to paper pushers. More fool me.

  I hit my dresser, grabbed a pair of boxer briefs and tiptoed into my walk-in closet. Once safely inside, I slid the door almost closed. I tossed the damp towel to the laundry basket and then quickly donned clean jeans and a T-shirt. Dressed, I gathered a couple more T-shirts and pairs of jeans and left the closet. I dumped them on the far side of the bed and went back to my dresser for socks and briefs, adding them to the growing pile. With clothes for the next few days taken care of, I focused on the next item of importance—protection.

  Crouching in front of the squat but solid gun safe tucked at the back of the closet, I let it do its thing with my fingerprints, and when it popped open, I collected what I would need. First up, my HK USP, followed by two extra-detachable
box magazines, each holding sixteen rounds of .45 ACP, which had a heavier impact than a regular nine-millimeter. Overkill, maybe, but I’d rather be certain than sorry.

  Dropping the extra magazines into the small weapons bag, which contained a few key items in case I found a need to hit the road quickly, I stood up and snagged my concealed holster off the top shelf. After clipping it to the waist of my jeans at the small of my back, I left my T-shirt untucked for easier access. Primary firmly in place, I sank back into a crouch and snagged my backup, the small fourth-generation Glock 19, and added it to the bag. No way was I leaving Megan unarmed with so many unknowns floating about. I didn’t plan on leaving her side, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She needed to be able to defend herself if I wasn’t around.

  With protection set and bare feet now covered with well-worn combat boots, I took the bag over to the bed and set it next to the pile of jeans and T-shirts. It took me ten minutes to toss my clothes, toiletries, and weapons bag into a faded pea-green duffle showing the wear and tear of multiple trips around the globe. Shouldering it, I snagged a hoodie from the chair and left the bedroom.

  Halfway down the hall, a noise at the front door brought me to a standstill. I set the duffle bag and jacket on the floor, taking care to keep as quiet as possible. Straightening, I pulled the HK free and brought it up, barrel aimed at the door.

  As the door swung open, a familiar voice called, “Don’t shoot. I’m not the biggest fan of Swiss cheese, mon ami.” Rabbit’s dark head popped around the door, and his hazel eyes marked the gun before lifting to meet mine. Despite the teasing tone, his expression remained serious. “A little jumpy, are we?”

  Before I could answer, Jinx’s miffed voice ordered, “Move it, Cajun boy.” She forced Rabbit to take a couple of steps forward as I holstered my gun and picked up my bag and jacket.

 

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