She bet if Alec wanted his fire back, back it would come, once he relaxed.
“What I’m saying is that your power is centered in the mind. Maybe you need balance for it to work.”
He uncrossed his arms from his chest. “You figure pacing on this patio will get it back? I don’t think so.”
Maybe if she wanted him to know normal, she should show it to him. And it would buy time, time for him to think, time for her to figure out how to fix his fire. “I recommend that we do normal things. Grocery shopping. Cooking. Laundry. Walk around the town here. Or go sailing. Surf the internet. Get bored. Read. Anything to relax.”
His face went blank, as if she’d spoken a foreign language. “Sailing?” He glanced over at the water, his eyes wider. She’d finally hit a subject that interested him. She held her breath.
He flopped back into his chair.
“It is your choice.” She dug into her front pocket and offered him the car keys. “Or you could leave, now. I won’t hold you.”
For some reason, the offer of the keys made him scowl again. He shook his head and she tossed the keys onto the patio table.
“How long would this relaxation program last?”
“That’s your choice. Just as I said.” She walked back to the table and tried to nibble a cracker but her stomach was lead.
“Daz said maybe I hit a final growth spurt and it threw my fire out of whack.” His voice was almost a whisper. “Maybe I scared myself when I lit Gabe on fire. Is that what you mean by trauma?”
“You felt guilty about not only Gabe but about letting Demeter and his cell get away. And you think your fire’s out of control. Maybe your subconscious shut it down until you can work that out.” Please, let that be true.
He poured himself another glass of water. She kept quiet. She’d said and done enough to him. She’d given him plenty to think about already. He looked down at his bandaged hands, raised his head and stared at the bloodstains he’d left on the shoulders of her shirt.
“Okay, I’ll stay a day or two.” He stood. “But not just because you want me to relax. I don’t know what game you’re playing, counselor, but I want to find out. People don’t always need guns to play mind games.” He looked away, back at the ocean.
At his agreement, Alec expected instant action. But Beth insisted on taking a shower before going into town. That’s not what happened at the Resource. No one wasted time there. No one left him alone, unwatched, either.
She did look a mess. Not that much of a mess that he hadn’t wanted to seize her while she fixed his hands, though. They were alone. No reason not to do what he’d wanted when he left the Resource with her.
No reason, except he didn’t trust her.
She showed him to the guest bedroom first, the one painted light blue on the first floor. There was a yellow quilt on the bed and curtains with sunflowers framing the windows, confirming his girly impression. But she opened a drawer in the bureau and pulled out a man’s T-shirt and jeans.
“I think these will fit, if you’d like to change,” she said. “Your shirt is sweaty and dirty. And there are bloodstains on it.”
“Who do these clothes belong to?”
“A friend, the person who owns this place.” She turned and left for her shower.
Probably her mysterious CIA contact or a boyfriend. Though she’d never mentioned a boyfriend.
The jeans fit. The shirt was a little tight. At least that meant he had bigger and stronger shoulders than her “friend”. Had they done anything on this bed? He ground his teeth. She’d upended his life. He intended to do the same to hers. No way were they going back to this counselor/client business. If she was telling the truth, he had a much different relationship in mind.
He went back into the hallway, out the kitchen door and grabbed the car keys on the patio table. He jingled them in his hand as he walked to the front door. The car was there. He could go, he really could. She’d been telling the truth about that.
Except he couldn’t drive.
Lansing’s rule. No driving.
Alec had asked a few of the Resource employees to teach him to drive on the sly. No one dared, not even Daz, who wasn’t scared of anything. That hadn’t seemed strange then. It did now.
Lansing claimed driving was too dangerous. But, of course, not being able to drive prevented him from getting very far if he ran away. That supported Beth’s story. In fact, he would have believed her completely if not for what happened to his fire. Lansing had done plenty lately to piss him off.
He looked at the keys in his hand. Driving couldn’t be that hard. He could do it. F-Team needed him. Daz had said that Demeter would surface soon with the bomb. He had to be stopped.
Though how to stop the bomb without his fire, Alec had no idea.
If he left this place without Beth, she might disappear before he came back and he’d never get answers from her. He flexed his bandaged hands. What a soft touch, almost feather-light. He wanted those hands a hell of a lot lower on his body.
Who could he trust?
Daz said a soldier only knew what he could accomplish when he was completely on his own. Time to find out what he was made of.
He put the keys in the pocket of the jeans and went back inside, poking around. He walked about halfway up the narrow steps that Beth had taken to the second floor and heard a shower running. He retreated. Seeing her naked would be great, but what he really should do was search the rest of the house while she was preoccupied.
He pushed the living room sofa out from the wall, looking for anything unusual, especially signs of wires that led to cameras, but there were only baseboard heaters.
He put the couch back and checked the nature prints on the wall. Nothing behind those. The wall looked clean too, no sign of holes for small cameras. The bookcase was too heavy to move but the floor around it seemed clean. He pulled a few books out and flipped the pages. Just books. To be sure, he checked all four shelves, making sure they were books and not hidden cameras or listening devices.
So far as he could tell, then, this little house was what she said it was. He tried to use his TK to tap against the walls for hidden spaces.
Nothing, just that weird empty feeling in his head again.
He heard footsteps and turned. She stood in the hallway, her hair still wet from the shower. The simple blue v-neck T-shirt made her look younger, more attractive and more natural. He fought the desire to find out what kissing her would be like a second time. Lust is fine, Daz would say, but that doesn’t mean you have to be stupid about it.
He had to be smart.
“Ready to go?” she said.
“Sure.” He followed her out the front door, to the car, thinking of their kiss, wondering if that had been play-acting. He didn’t want to believe that.
She opened the driver’s side door of the Honda and shook her head. “I’m an idiot.”
“What?”
“I forgot the keys. I’ll go back around to the patio.”
“No need.” He pulled them out of the pocket of the jeans and tossed them to her. “You’re not a very good spy to leave them lying around.”
“I’m not a spy at all.” She grabbed for the keys but missed and they bounced into the stone gravel of the driveway. She bent and picked them up, staring at him as she straightened.
“Thank you, Alec.”
He shrugged. “Sure. Let’s go shopping.”
They got into the car. She kept turning to look at him out of the corner of her eye. Hell, this was worse than all the cameras. Those were just silent observers. They didn’t pass judgment and he sure didn’t find them sexy.
She plugged her iPod into the cassette adapter. The first chords of a quiet, beautiful song flowed from the Accord’s crackly speakers. She hummed as she drove, going down a dirt road that he guessed led to a main road. The Honda swayed as its shocks attempted to absorb the potholes. She was mouthing the words to the song.
“Just my imagination…running away with me…
”
“That’s nice,” he said. “It’s nothing like the classical music that Lansing likes.”
“Or the rap music that you have in your apartment.”
He shrugged. “It’s what F-Team likes. I’ve never heard this song before, though. It’s a little like hip-hop but more soulful. There are songs like it in some of the movies I’ve watched.”
“This song and others like it were an influence on hip-hop and rap.” She tapped her fingers in rhythm.
“What’s it called?” She’d never seemed this relaxed before and was treating him more like a person than a client.
“It’s called ‘Just My Imagination’.”
“Trying to tell me something?” he said, voice bland.
She shook her head. “No, no. I just like the song.”
“They don’t play this in the clubs.” Too slow for some of the strip clubs, for sure. There, it was mostly music with indecipherable lyrics and drumbeats. Not that he usually paid attention to the music. And action movies didn’t slow down enough to play this quiet song.
“The song’s over thirty years old and not the style they’d want in a strip club.” She twisted her mouth into a small grin. “Did they ever give you a music course at the Resource?”
“Lansing taught me composers: Beethoven, Mozart, Schubert, some Vivaldi. And opera. I had to learn Italian for that.”
“Did you like opera?”
“Italian is an interesting language. And I went to the performances.” He’d liked the tux and being out in a crowd for a change. Of course, Lansing always had a pack of guards with them.
“I’m glad you saw opera live, at least. Did Lansing talk about the context in which opera developed?”
“No, he talked about the musical composition and some of the character arcs. Like Carmen. She never changes, even though she ruins lives. Maybe like someone else I know?”
She laughed. “I’m no Latin temptress. And that’s a good analysis of Carmen. Did you learn anything else about music?”
“Lansing taught me to play piano.”
Beth raised an eyebrow. “Did you like it?”
“Not really. He was good at it. I wasn’t. He cut off the lessons when I started using my TK on the keys. He said that wasn’t the point.”
Beth smiled. “You were trying to get out of the lessons by annoying him.”
“Well, yeah. It worked, didn’t it?”
He stared out the window at the trees lining the winding road. Pine trees. Forever green, like the ones he’d torched for practice a few years back. He hadn’t noticed then how majestic they were.
The song ended and a new one started, a little louder and with more of a back beat.
She turned onto a two-lane road, still heading downhill. No other cars were in sight. The sun beat down, light streaming through the fall foliage, bright reds and yellows. He didn’t see any sign of cameras or surveillance in the trees.
“We really are out in the middle of nowhere.”
“No, we’re someplace where people aren’t squished together like ants.” Keeping one eye on the road, she reached down and changed the song.
“Hey, I liked that.”
“You have good taste. That’s Marvin Gaye.” She stared straight ahead. “It’s a seduction song. It didn’t seem appropriate, just now.”
He picked up the iPod and began to read the play list. It identified the new song as “We’re Having a Party” by someone named Sam Cooke. That sounded like the name of a Beastie Boys song, so he picked it. Unlike the Beastie Boys, this party song was smooth, just like the others on the playlist. “So, it’s all in my imagination and we can’t have a seduction song but we can have a party?”
She cleared her throat. “There’s no secret message in my iPod.”
“Ah.” He grinned. “Well, you are trying to seduce me, in a way. Seduce me away from all the evil.” He lowered his voice. “The evil Resource led by the evil Lansing.”
“Not seduce,” she said. “Give you information. Teach you about what life should be like.”
He shrugged. “I bet seduction is more fun than forced re-education.”
“I’m not forcing you. You’re here because you agreed.”
“And because I want to regain my fire. I didn’t agree to it being taken away.”
She turned left, from the country lane onto a larger road, one marked with a highway number. He shifted in the passenger seat, holding the iPod up to eye level, continuing to scroll through her playlist. When in doubt, study the opposition. The artists listed included The Temptations, The Four Tops and The Supremes. The album cover shots showed African Americans. Strange names, though no worse than 2-Pac or C-Lo.
“Are these all the same style?”
“It’s mostly Motown on that playlist. They were a small studio in a Detroit suburb but they had a unique sound. They were the first all-black record label to really cross over to the white audience.”
“Like Eminem crosses over to the black rap audience.”
“Exactly.”
A McDonald’s arch came into focus. Then another sign, this time for Wal-Mart. Those signs he’d seen before, on the drives to and from the Resource to a meeting or even on the way to the strip clubs.
He looked at her again. The steering wheel was slick with sweat from her hands.
“This doesn’t look much different from New Jersey to me.”
She nodded. “We’re on the outskirts of the actual town center. Unfortunately, money is tight for most people here. The chain stores have better prices. To stay vital, the center of town has turned into the quaint tourist place that most visitors expect from Maine. But the stores there are too expensive for the locals.”
“You make it sound grim.”
“This is happening to small towns all over. Sometimes I’m convinced it’s as much a threat to America in the long run as the terrorists you fight.”
“I’m shaking in my boots at the thought of McDonald’s conquering the world,” he said with a grin. “Though it is kinda scary to think of that strange Ronald clown running the county.”
“When did you go to McDonalds?”
“After the strip clubs. The drive-thru windows are open all night. Great fries and apple pies, even if they do burn your mouth. It’s a nice change from the dinners that Lansing serves me. You need like a whole drawer of silverware for those.”
“No doubt.” She sighed. “You should tell Lansing that you want a course in economics and world trade if you decide to go back.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Really. It might give you an understanding of the motivations of the rest of the world.”
“Motivations aren’t my job. Winning is.”
“How do you know what’s part of your job if you don’t have all the information? Don’t you want to know what conditions created people like Hans Ulrich and Demeter?”
“Why would I want to know that?”
“If you learn under what conditions people choose to be terrorists, you can change the conditions before they become terrorists.”
“That sounds farfetched. How the hell can you tell who’s going to turn out to be a terrorist and who won’t? You can’t know that. You just have to fight them and stop them.”
“That’s what you’ve been told. How do you know if it’s true if you lack the information to judge?”
They stopped at a red light. The car ahead of them ran the light and barely missed being sideswiped. He winced. When the light turned green, she turned into the nearly full parking lot. “You can have control over your life. Why give it up to someone else?”
“If I spent all my time researching, I wouldn’t have time to do what I’ve been trained to do.” He stared out the window.
“Exactly. It’s easier for Richard Lansing to keep you in ignorance because then you won’t question orders. You were trained as the weapon. You’re so much more than that. You can take charge.”
“Lansing does just fine in charge.”
“Mmm…”
He bit the side of his tongue with his teeth, going back over his words. No wonder she’d kept silent, with him just admitting he’d rather have Lansing run his life than try to sort it out himself. Lansing had good reasons for being in charge. At least, he’d thought Lansing had good reasons.
She cursed under her breath as she started to turn into what looked like an empty parking spot and saw it was blocked by shopping carts.
“Urban warfare?”
She snorted. “Unfortunately.” She went onto the next row, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. She wasn’t even close to his in-control counselor, more of a nervous mess. Maybe she was what she said she was and he didn’t want to believe her because that would mean everything Lansing had ever told him—every word of praise or comfort, even Lansing’s gruff affection—it was all smoke and mirrors, all illusion to get him to use his powers in whatever way Lansing wanted.
If Beth was right, everyone at the Resource viewed him just as a freak, a weapon to be used and not a person. Did F-Team think that way? Daz was supposed to be his friend. Was that a lie too?
She pulled the Honda into an empty slot, far from the front door. He unbuckled his seatbelt.
“So far, this doesn’t seem like it will help get my fire back. Not very relaxing.”
She nodded. “It’s a distraction, I suppose. And we do need some things, including food, to get your metabolism back on track.”
“Can I drive on the way home?”
“Sure.” She tossed him the keys. He caught them in midair.
No hesitation, no nothing. She didn’t know. She really didn’t know. “I, uh, you’ll have to give me directions.”
“It’s an easy enough drive back, just a few turns.”
He curled his fingers around the keys, digging them into his palm, feeling his face blush red. Damn. “I meant, I need you to tell me how to drive.”
“You don’t know?”
He shook his head, angry, but not at her.
“They didn’t teach you to drive? Those—” She took a deep breath. “I’ll teach you. Promise.”
Phoenix Rising Page 9