by Jami Gray
Confused, I pulled back and looked at him, but he wasn’t giving me any clues. “For what?”
His gaze drifted moodily over my face. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Something in that look finally clicked. All that had happened the night before came in and took a seat, demanding that I give it some attention. Guess it’s time for that discussion. Eek. “No, I wanted what happened.”
He said, “But…?”
Shifting a little, I countered, “But what?”
That managed to pierce his blank mask, because he smiled the tiniest bit. “There’s always a but after a comment like that.”
I watched myself twist a piece of his hair around my finger. “Uh, I guess you’re right.”
“So what’s the but?”
Was that nervousness in his voice? I looked at him, really looked at him, taking in the fine tension riding under my hands and his stoic expression. Then it hit me. I wasn’t alone in the insecurities department. We both knew this might not end well. Strangely, that realization gave me the strength to admit how I felt.
“I like you.” Hearing myself give that lame description made me wince, and honesty had me adding, “Really, really, like you. Any other time, I’d be on cloud nine about exploring this with you.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
His sincerity stung because I wanted to bask in it but couldn’t. “But”—there was that damn word—“there’s a high chance I’m compromised. It’s a little hard to build something if you can’t trust the foundation, right?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached up and pulled my hands down until he was holding them between us. I stood there, caught in his gaze, a humming silence falling between us. Finally, he asked, “Do you trust me?”
That was not the question I was expecting, but my answer was immediate and filled with startling truth. “Yes.”
“Good to know.” He brought my hand up and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Let’s work with that and worry about the rest when we have to, okay?”
Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door. We both turned to look, and Bishop said, “Yeah?”
The door opened, and Rabbit stuck his head in. “Ricochet will be here in forty.”
Bishop lifted his chin. “Thanks.”
Rabbit propped a shoulder on the doorframe, a speculative gleam in his eyes, followed by a wicked grin, but before he could start something, Bishop cut him off. “Did you reach Dev?”
“I’m good, my friend, but I’m not that good. It’s next on my list.”
“Thank you, Rabbit,” I said. The simple phrase didn’t cover how much it meant to me, but I hoped he could hear the depth of emotion behind it.
Rabbit’s amusement disappeared, replaced by compassion. “No thanks needed, chere. We protect our own.” He turned to Bishop. “Once Ricochet gets here, Jinx and I will head back to the office and start combing through the colonel’s calendars.”
That didn’t sound smart to me at all. Confused when Bishop didn’t argue about Rabbit’s announcement, I asked, “You’re going to the office? Is that a good idea?”
Rabbit’s grin came back in full force. “Doncha worry none there, darlin’. We’ll be jus’ fine.”
“And if you’re caught hacking the colonel’s calendars?”
Rabbit clutched his chest in mock injury. “Caught? Don’t utter such blasphemy. Have a little faith.”
“He’s right,” Bishop said. “The last place anyone would try for them would be at the office.”
“Plus,” Rabbit added, “accessing her files is easier when I can mask my searches from an internal source.”
That made absolutely no sense to me, but arguing with the computer genius would be pointless. Hopefully he was right, because if he was wrong… that didn’t bear thinking about.
“Megan,” Bishop said, and I turned to him. He squeezed my hand. “It’s okay.”
Jinx called Rabbit from the kitchen. “Comin’, sugar,” Rabbit called back. He pushed off the frame. “I’ll leave you two alone now.” With a flash of a leer, he was gone.
I watched the empty doorway as all my doubts and worries reconvened. Each move the team made sucked them deeper into this mess, all because Bishop trusted me. What the hell was up with that, anyway? I didn’t trust me. Behind me, I felt Bishop stand up. Bracing myself, I turned. “Bishop—”
That was as far as I got. His mouth took mine with a sweetness that almost hurt and definitely took my breath away. When he was done, he lifted his head, clear determination etched in every line of his face. “Whatever this is, it’s something I want to explore, so I’m not giving up on you. Do me a favor and don’t give up on you either, okay?”
With the heady taste of him on my tongue and a lump in my throat, I gave in. “Okay.”
Chapter Eighteen
Standing in the kitchen, working on my second cup of coffee, I tried hard not to think about my conversation with Bishop or the more frantic ones with both my mom and my sister via one of Bishop’s many burner cells. While I had no choice but to share about the break-in, I avoided talking about my concerns about Dev. Still, by the time I hung up with both of them, I wanted to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head.
When the knock sounded, the casual atmosphere in the condo went wired as Rabbit rocked his chair back to peek through the blinds. He dropped the chair back to all four legs. “It’s Ricochet.”
Bishop went to the door as Rabbit and Jinx began packing up the rest of their stuff. Bishop let Ricochet in while I hung back by the sink. The newest arrival dropped a duffle bag on the floor next the door and exchanged manly one-arm hugs with Rabbit and Bishop before pulling Jinx into a quick hug. Now that the team’s most reclusive member was here, the apprehension I’d managed to ignore all but slapped me in the face.
Trying not to be obvious about it, I studied the man who was probably going to upend my world. He wasn’t as tall as Bishop but was closer to Rabbit’s height, which put him just under six feet. Like Rabbit, he ran toward the leaner side, but where Rabbit was like a live wire, Ricochet moved with a mesmerizing grace his jeans and T-shirt did little to disguise. Straight dark hair brushed his collar and framed a face with an intriguing blend of Native American and Asian traits as he scanned his surroundings.
When he caught sight of me, I found myself in a staring contest with a wild tiger, his focused patience made more lethal for its intensity. I only realized I’d frozen in place and was holding my breath when he finally looked away. Dropping my eyes to my cup, all I could do was thank whoever was listening that he was on our side.
My musings were interrupted by Jinx. “Megan?” She stopped in front of me, a worried frown on her face. “You okay?”
Setting my cup on the counter, I gave her a small smile. “Sorry, just spaced out for a second.” I lifted my chin at the backpack on her shoulder. “You guys heading out now?”
“Yeah, but I wanted to let you know that as soon as we get ahold of your brother, we’ll let you and Bishop know, okay?”
I wrapped my arms around my stomach. “Thank you.”
She studied me, and before I could brace for it, she gave me a quick hug. “Trust Bishop, and things will be okay, all right?” She pulled back and waited for my nod before turning to follow Rabbit out the door.
Once the door closed behind them, Ricochet turned his attention to me, and it was all I could do not to fidget like a toddler being caught with a hand in the cookie jar. That feeling made no sense, since I had nothing to feel guilty for, at least not that I knew about. While there was nothing in his expression to indicate otherwise, I couldn’t escape the feeling that Ricochet had judged me and found me lacking. That impression did more to rile my battered pride than anything else had in a while. But hard as it was, I held his gaze and lifted my chin, refusing to give ground.
“Ricochet, this is Megan.” Bishop crossed the kitchen to me, breaking the strange staring contest. “Megan, Ric
ochet.” He got to my side and stood next to me, leaning back against the counter, one arm behind my back, his hip brushing mine as we faced the quiet man studying us. Bishop leaned into me, his voice low, his breath brushing my ear. “Play nice.”
His unnecessary warning ruffled my temper, and I jerked my gaze to his face. “Me? I’m not the one you need to worry about.”
Ricochet’s rough chuckle broke through the room. “She’s got a point, Bishop.”
Bishop turned back to his friend. “You know why you’re here?”
Ricochet folded his arms over his chest and held Bishop’s gaze without any hint of concern. “Falcon’s got someone embedded close to the colonel, and Wolf thinks Megan’s a dream-walker.” He turned to me. “If Wolf is right, we’ve got quite the day ahead of us.”
Some little devil made me ask, “And if Wolf is wrong?”
“Then I ensure that you’re not a threat.” He spoke without any inflection.
While his answer should have left me shaking in fear, it actually reassured me. Not so for Bishop, who stiffened at my side. Undoubtedly, he understood better than I what Ricochet would do to keep his team safe. As for me, so long as I couldn’t hurt anyone, I was okay with that. To make sure Bishop understood my position, I asked Ricochet, “Promise?”
A flash of compassion or pity, I wasn’t sure which, came and went before he gave me a solemn nod. “Yes. I won’t let you hurt any of us.”
“Thanks.” It seemed to be my word of the day.
He inclined his head in a respectful nod.
Next to me, Bishop shifted, some of the tension draining away. “Did you pick up any shadows?”
Ricochet shook his head. “After Rabbit filled me in, I made it a point to look.”
Bishop frowned. “Nothing?”
“Nothing,” Ricochet repeated.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” I looked between the two men. Clearly, I was missing something.
It was Ricochet who answered. “Maybe, maybe not. There’s not enough information to know.” His gaze went back to Bishop. “The colonel wasn’t expecting me back for a few more days. Plus, my ride landed in a private airfield, so chances are good if they are watching, they have no clue I’m stateside.”
Bishop looked relieved and muttered, “Gives us at least one ace in the hole.”
Worry knotted my stomach as I read between the lines. “Wait, will you being here get you in trouble with the colonel?”
Ricochet smiled just the tiniest bit. “I’m on official leave. There’s nothing for her to get upset about.”
“Except the fact that we’re all plotting behind her back.” The snippy comment slipped free before I could censor it. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I turned away and put my empty cup in the sink.
Bishop touched my shoulder, waiting until I looked at him. “She might get pissed, but she’ll understand that we’re doing our job.”
Maybe she would, but I’d worked with her long enough to know she did not deal well with being kept out of the loop. There was a quiet warning in Bishop’s dark eyes to let it go. Heeding it, I bit my lip instead of pursuing an argument I had no hope of winning.
“Any chance there’s something besides coffee around here?” Ricochet asked, breaking the underlying tension between us.
I pointed to the cabinet above the coffee maker. “Tea. There was a tin or two up in that cabinet. Not sure how old or how good it is, but…” I waved him to it.
“Thanks.” Ricochet crossed the floor and began rummaging in the cabinet.
While he worked on his tea, I finished rinsing my cup and dried my hands. Leaving Bishop and Ricochet to their small talk, I escaped to the living room and curled up on the couch. It didn’t take long before both men joined me. Bishop sat close while Ricochet took the chair nearby.
Once everyone settled, Ricochet got straight down to business. “What do you know of dream-walking?”
“Pretend I know nothing.” I didn’t want to admit that my knowledge of dream-walking was more likely to be found in the pages of a book than in reality.
Ricochet explained, “Dream-walking is a form of telepathy. It’s the power to enter and control others through their dreams and thereby influence their waking lives.”
Bits and pieces of the research I’d dug through trying to understand Dev and Keelie’s abilities came to my rescue. “So, it’s another term for lucid dreaming?”
He balanced his cup of tea on the armrest of his chair. “Being aware that you’re dreaming is just one part of it. Dream-walking is a psychic ability that tends to combine lucid dreaming, astral projection, and telepathy. Put all of that together, and you basically have the ability to turn someone’s dreams into reality.”
“Or a nightmare,” I muttered, thinking of the images that haunted me.
He nodded. “Or a nightmare.”
And I was supposed to let Ricochet, an admittedly powerful dream-walker, waltz into my head and poke around? Panic and dread crawled over my bones, giving me the sickening willies. “As a telepath, shouldn’t Wolf be able to tell if I have this ability?”
A shadow flickered over Ricochet’s face as he shared a look with Bishop, but his voice remained even and calm when he answered me. “Control is crucial for Wolf. It allows him to live with his ability’s demands.”
His answer made me stop and think of what it really meant to be telepathic and all that it would entail. What would a lifetime of being bombarded by the thoughts people kept buried in the dark be like? I’d only suffered through horrific nightmares for the last few weeks. The hell of seeing that all the time… a shiver crawled down my spine. “Poor Wolf.”
Ricochet winced. “It’s not an easy ability to carry.”
“None of them are,” Bishop added.
The two men shared a grim look of commiseration. Hearing the acceptance in Bishop’s tone and watching the haunted look in his face, it wasn’t hard to guess that he was back on that road with his best friend. Not wanting him to slip back into the dark, I changed position until I was under his arm. “No, but you do the best you can. That’s all anyone can ask.”
He blinked, and his expression cleared.
I turned back to Ricochet. “Okay, so Wolf didn’t want to break my mind trying to figure out what was going on. So how do you plan to do this?”
Ricochet didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied us, and whatever he thought about what he saw, he didn’t share. “I’m going to bring you into my dream and see if you can alter it.”
Taken aback, I blinked. “That’s it? It’s that simple?”
He shrugged.
I narrowed my eyes, not about to let him get away with the mute-male shtick. “That’s not an answer, Ricochet.”
Those dark brows rose, but he said, “It’s the best I can give you.”
Okay, time to try a different tack. “How dangerous is this?”
Bishop stiffened next to me, but Ricochet just tilted his head and frowned. “I won’t let you get hurt.”
“What if I hurt you?” Granted, that was probably a long shot—like, seriously long—but with the way things were going, I had to ask.
Instead of being insulted or worried, he ducked his head, which did nothing to hide his grin. When he looked back up, even though he maintained what I was coming to think of as his teacher voice, that grin lingered in his eyes. “How about I promise you won’t hurt me?”
“You can do that?” My fingers did a nervous dance on Bishop’s thigh. This dream-walking stuff didn’t sound like an ability that played nice with others.
Ricochet’s expression softened. “My dream, my world.”
His reassurance did jack all to ease the sense of horror crawling along my skin, or maybe that was just nerves. “What happens if we get in there, and I freak out and screw something up?”
Instead of brushing me off, Ricochet took a moment before answering with equal gravity. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, Megan. Even if you are a dream-walker, you couldn’t ma
tch me. Not yet and probably not ever.” He leaned forward, his arms braced on his knees. “It takes years of practice to master dream-walking. Not only do we not have years, but we have maybe hours—at most, days—to get you to a point where you can become the bait we need.”
The word bait bounced around my mind until it drowned out everything else. For some reason, hearing the plan from Ricochet instead of Bishop made it more real, more frightening. If it turned out I could do this, I would have to find the strength to turn the tables on my nightmares. While a part of me fiercely hoped I was a dream-walker and that I would have a chance to take my life back, the thought of facing what haunted me scared me to death.
My fingers bit into Bishop’s thigh as my heart picked up speed. The familiar metallic taste of fear coated my mouth, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. Refusing to look away, I held Ricochet’s hard gaze and found the strength to say, “Let’s do this, then.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Open your eyes.”
I opened them, squinting against the brightness. The light faded back to tolerable levels and left me standing in the stark beauty of the desert at sunset. Off in the distance, I could see the smudge of mountains. “Where are we?”
“Consider this a testing ground.”
Turning, I found Ricochet sitting tailor-fashion on a boulder behind me. Other than him and his rock, there was nothing but dirt and scrub bushes. “Okay,” I drew the word out. “So now what?”
“Now I want you to imagine holding a walking stick.”
An image flashed through my mind. Between one breath and the next, a white staff, as described by Tolkien and immortalized in an epic film, appeared in my hand. Stunned, all I could manage was, “Holy crap!”
“Really? Gandalf’s staff?” Ricochet shook his head, sounding exasperated. “We’re not here to fight orcs, Megan. You’re going to need a walking stick.”
The staff in my hand started to shift, the edges slipping away like a watercolor, but I wasn’t done geeking out. Besides, I liked this staff much better than some boring walking stick. The image stilled then snapped back to the white carved staff.