by Dana Lyons
He watched us, but from where?
“I’ve seen how you live, taking care of each other, always together, never alone. What does that feel like?”
The question was easy, given her recent exposure to abject solitude. “We think alike, and that helps us stay together. Having them in my life is very comforting. We’re always there for each other, you know?” As soon as the words came out, she regretted them.
The corners of his eyes sagged in concert with the corners of his mouth. He shook his head no, and tears slowly filled his eyes. “Elizabeth, she never loved me.” His shoulders shook.
She took his hand. At first, he flinched, but he didn’t pull away. “Who is Elizabeth?”
“My mother. She never saw me like you do. She never saw me at all.”
“What happened to her?”
He blew his nose and sniffled. “She died. Dropped dead before she could say—”
“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about her.” She looked around, her gaze falling on a cluster of mail on the counter by the door. “Would you like to play cards again?”
“I enjoyed that,” he said smiling. “Will you let me win?”
She ruffed his hair. “Of course, I will, silly. Now go get the cards.”
“Okay,” and he bounded into another room. She jumped up and grabbed a piece of mail, then read the address before moving to refill their coffee cups. She opened the refrigerator for milk, and her gaze stopped at a jar of eyeballs on the door shelf. Her stomach lurched, remembering she played with a horribly damaged individual.
How close am I to adding to the collection?
She grabbed the milk.
He came back in breathless and sat down with the cards. He glanced between her, with the coffee pot in one hand and the carton of milk in her other hand, and the stack of mail on the counter. But she ignored him, and after filling their cups, she picked up the cards. In her mind, she cast the call to Rhys. Martin Nash, 9th St NE.
Got it. I’ll let Simon know, and I’ll be outside.
Low profile. We’ll come out.
Be careful.
In the name of those Martin murdered, she fought Nobility and shuffled, bird-caged the cards like a pro, and winked. “What do you want to start with, Martin?”
* * *
At the FBI, Simon held his head in his hands, waiting for the computer to spit out the results of their search. A short list came out. “Quinn.” He passed him the list. “Got any of these names?”
The second name on the rib contusion list caught his eye. “Elizabeth Nash.” Elliot North was the last fake ID. “Hmmm. Same initials. Do you have a Nash?”
Quinn circled a name on his list. “Yep. Martin Nash, owns a white van, registered to an address on 9th St NE.”
Simon sat up, suddenly hearing Rhys.
She says she’s all right. I have an address.
Nash, right?
Yes. So, you found him, too.
Kicked his momma in the ribs after she died, just like he kicked all the girls. We’re on our way. Simon motioned Quinn to get up.
Go low profile. She wants to come out with him at sunrise.
Simon checked his watch. Two and a half hours till sunrise.
I’m here at the Nash address. Lights are on in the kitchen. Bring me clothes. We can notify Jarvis from here after I get dressed.
11
Two pots of coffee and hours later, Dreya dreaded what was coming. Rhys landed in the yard and strutted around, cawing.
Sunrise. We’ll be ready to come out by then.
Simon and Quinn are here. Getting dressed before calling Jarvis. Expect SWAT within a half hour. He lifted out of sight, but she could still feel him in her mind. She was no longer alone.
Her gaze shifted to Martin. He’d grown quiet, his hands on the table as he stared out the window.
“Martin, they’re coming soon. What do you want to do?”
He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Are your men coming?”
“I expect they’ll be here, along with the others.”
“That’s good,” he said smiling. “After tonight, they must be worried about you.”
Suddenly her throat thickened up. She grabbed his hands. Her words came clogged with emotion. “Come out with me, Martin.”
What little smile he retained withered, but he stiffened his lip. “What’s going to happen next?”
She held his hands. Noble tears gathered in her eyes and ran before she could speak. “I think you know.” Her voice broke, and she frowned and briskly rubbed the back of his hand. His image blurred in her field of tears. She sobbed. “I’m so sorry for your suffering, sorry for you pain, Martin.”
“I know. If you’d been my mom, I wouldn’t be the person I am.” He gently pulled his hands from her and passed her a box of tissues. “After we go out, what happens next? Will I see you again?”
“I’ll be in court.” Her throat closed up with a great lump of burgeoning sadness. Being part of the process handing him more pain did not sit well with her. She wasn’t forgetting the victims, but what would be the benefit of more suffering on top of this injured soul? Was that justice? Or was that retribution?
Damn Nobility. Where’s the rage over his guilt?
He rose and drew her up. “Come on, now. Clean yourself up,” He pulled her towards the bathroom, then pointed to the sink.
“You brought my contacts?” She read his face, at last seeing the guilt.
“I never wanted to kill those women,” he said. “I just wanted them to say the words. But when I saw your eyes without the contacts, I knew my search was over.”
He sighed and grabbed her hand. “I hoped you could stay longer, but, in my heart, I knew that wouldn’t happen.” His voice turned to gravel, and he coughed. “So, put in your contacts. I remain one of the few who knows your secret.”
She wanted to ask him more about what he knew of her secret. But movement outside one of the windows told her it was time to go. “Wait for me, stay right here.”
She left the bathroom door open while she rinsed her face and inserted the contacts. In the mirror, she blinked, feeling like a great owl able to see what others cannot. A momentary pang for the good old days tried to rise, but the odds were against it.
I am the best I can possibly be, however difficult that is.
Martin waited in the hall. “Don’t be afraid when they separate us, understand?”
He nodded.
Outside, the air was cool and dawn brightened the other side of the house. In the front facing west, darkness remained.
A pair of federal vehicles blocked the driveway, and she spotted two snipers on the roof of the house across the street. Rhys, Quinn, and Simon were in the street with vests, weapons drawn.
Don’t shoot. I’ve got this.
She saw Rhys whisper into his mic. “Staying cool, we are staying cool.”
Thank you.
She stepped out with her arm around Martin’s shoulders. “No sudden movements, okay?”
He nodded and stayed by her side. Rhys walked up the drive, his eyes on Martin.
We’re okay. Don’t frighten him.
She squeezed Martin’s arm. “Rhys is going to handcuff you.”
“Martin Nash, you’re under arrest for the murder of Haley Summers.”
Martin turned to give Rhys access to put on the cuffs.
Dreya’s chin quivered. “Just do as they ask. Let them help you.” A wave of sadness enveloped her. His eyes crinkled, giving him the look of a small boy.
She remained on the doorstep as Rhys lead Martin down the long walkway to the vehicles. When they were five yards away, Martin stopped and motioned to Rhys. Rhys bent down as Martin whispered, and pulled back abruptly. Martin jerked free, and ran towards her.
“No!” she screamed, but the sound of gunfire already fractured the morning stillness, echoing off the houses. She ran to him as he fell with three chest wounds. Lifting him up, she cradled him against her. “Why?”
Tears fell from her chin and dripped on him. He lifted one bloodied hand to her cheek. Pink foamed at the corner of his mouth, and vivid scarlet blood coughed up when he answered. “Once you said the words, I had nothing to live for.”
His arm dropped, and his head slid from her hold.
Strong hands took her by the shoulders, raising her up. “Come on,” Rhys said. “Let’s get out of the way.” He steered her aside as the EMTs collected the body. “Are you hurt? Is this blood all his?”
Martin’s face was all she could see, burned into her Noble vision and memories. “He was a lonely little boy,” she cried. The shock of his death stunned her Noble hopes.
That he could somehow be saved. Damn Nobility!
Rhys shook her again. Suddenly she realized he was speaking, he was here in the flesh. She threw her arms around him. “Rhys. Rhys, hold me. Hold me.” More sobs came, of grief and hopelessness, for her, and for Martin.
His long arms wrapped around her, drawing her off the ground. She clung to him as though life itself depended on it. “Oh God, I missed you. All of you.”
“We missed you,” chorused Quinn and Simon. They gathered around, and she hugged them, feeling their heartbeat close.
“Damn, princess, you gave us a hell of a scare.”
“Yeah,” Quinn added. “And don’t do that again.” He shook a finger in reproach, but she swatted it aside and hugged him.
They escorted her away, giving the blood on the sidewalk a wide berth. Rhys drove. “Are you sure you can do this?” he asked.
“We have a window of opportunity fed by three pots of coffee. After that, I’m toast,” she answered.
They entered the office and hovered over her while she typed up a preliminary report and filed it. As exhaustion rode down the backside of her caffeine high, she slumped over her keyboard.
“You guys file your reports. I’m moving her.”
Rhys’ voice seemed to come from down the hall, surprising her when he whispered in her ear, “Come on, I’m getting you out of here.”
As they walked out, Jarvis waved and they stopped. He looked her up and down. “Any of that blood yours?”
“No sir. Suspect died at the scene.”
“Filed your prelim?”
“Yes, sir.”
He spoke to Rhys. “Don’t bring her back until she’s able.”
By the time she reached the car, her caffeine buzz had definitely faded. But she saw him turn towards her apartment. “No. Not home.” She lay her head back, absolutely spent. “I can’t go there ever.”
“Where do you want?”
“A place where no one will walk in on us; I want you to make love to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
She smiled, so relieved to make this step. If Lazar’s words ‘hard-wired telepathy’ meant what she thought, then she would never be alone again.
At a stoplight, Rhys made a call. “Hey, Robert, it’s me. I need a place. A few days. Back door. Got it. See you there.”
She was exhausted, but a curious flicker of excitement burned in her mind. Lazar made them different, exceptional in everything they did. She hoped his genius extended to the telepathy as he promised. The deep and permanent connection, she needed it now, needed it forever.
Rhys stopped at the back entrance of a nearby five-star hotel. She didn’t even lift a brow. No one beat Rhys for boots on the ground contacts.
“Morgan, good to see you.” A man in a three-piece suite clasped hands with Rhys. Dreya got out. A valet jumped forward to take the keys from Rhys. The man was asking, “Luggage?” as she came around the other side of the car,
When he saw her bloodied form, he snapped his fingers. Another employee disappeared, returning with a robe. “We’ll take you up via a private entrance.”
The stupor of exhaustion was taking over. Like a mannequin, she let them shuffle her along. A short elevator ride, and they exited straight into a penthouse. The man passed the key to Rhys. “Anything you need, call.”
“Clothes.”
“Done. Room service will deliver two hot meals and a basket of fruit within the hour.”
There was only one thing she wanted first. She dropped the robe as she walked towards the bathroom. She peeled the soiled clothes from her skin. A glance in the mirror showed a bloody smear on her cheek.
She closed her eyes and clenched her mouth tight with a wave of pain. Hot tears sprang in her eyes as she removed her contacts. Martin’s face still filled her watery vision, finally a little boy at peace when he died. More tears poured for him, mitigated only because she’d been able to show him love for once in his life.
In the big mirror, she was naked, her hair and body caked and smeared with blood and tears. Behind her, Rhys waited, patient, faithful, committed. “Come here,” he said.
He opened his arms and she fell into them. “I can’t do it, Rhys. Nobility is killing me. I can’t take the emotions.” A sob rose, buckling her legs, and he grabbed her tight, pulling her up. “I can shut out thoughts, but the emotions, I’m like a sponge.”
“You’re gonna be okay,” he soothed. “I‘ve got you, and Quinn, and Simon, too.” He lifted her chin. “Every day is a new day with Nobility. You learned how to shut out the thoughts, you’ll learn how to manage the emotions.” He exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry you had to face Nash like this.”
She blubbered, needing to get Nash out of her head. “His pain was immeasurable. He knew a lifetime without love.” She laughed, a bitter sound harsh to her ears. “I liked him, Rhys! We spent the night playing cards, and he became a seven-year-old again. Or maybe, actually, for the first time.”
There was more, words she couldn’t say out loud.
The pain I saw in his eyes as he died is now part of me.
His answer was soothing. Let it be a part of you without defining you—or crippling you. You’re strong. And when you get tired and fall down, as we all do, then I’ve got your back.
She accepted this for the moment, but a new pain rose. She wailed into his chest. “I was afraid, Rhys,” she cried, needing to share. “Not of Martin, but of being alone.” This confession ripped from her heart and soul. Her knees buckled again and she went limp, giving in to her sobs.
“Shhh,” he murmured, holding her up. “You think I’m never afraid?”
Her crying stopped, for she wanted to hear him. “Big, strong Rhys afraid?” She held her breath. His answer was long in coming. Her curiosity built as she waited.
“When Quinn and Simon woke me and I learned he had you, because of me.” He choked and she felt the tears dripping off his chin. His body shook as he tucked his lips against her scalp. “If he hurt you, I was afraid of what I’d become if you were gone. I wouldn’t want to live.”
Unable to talk, she clutched him close. Her emotions and her brain were out of sync, unable to form thought or words. They stood together a long time, until both stopped crying. He turned the water on in the shower. She waited as he took off his clothes. He tested the water, pulled her over, and gently pushed her in.
“Oh,” she gasped in the cold. But she patted her eyes with the chilly water. Gradually, the water warmed and he stepped in with her. Her eyes were too swollen to open, it was easier to keep them closed as he rubbed shampoo into her hair, soaped her up, then turned her round and round in the water to rinse.
He repeated with conditioner before pulling her hair behind her back and gently washing her face. With her eyes closed, the mind link was strong. His soapy hands ran up and down each arm and again for her legs, cupping her buttocks briefly. He sluiced her down in the powerful spray, running his hands over her body, slipping though her lower lips and circling around to squeeze her buttocks again.
She moaned. Desire for him long banked, flared, eager for his touch. She pulled him down for a kiss. Slowly he came in, until their lips met, soft, teasing, promising.
A current of desire flashed through her body, coiled around her belly and slipped into her core. She wanted him
, wanted him now and forever.
Her lips parted, asking him to fill her need. He was gentle, caressing, loving. His hands slid up and down her back, across her ribs and up to cup her breasts. When his fingers closed over her breast and squeezed, she moaned into his mouth.
She reached for his erection and stroked his length. His flesh was solid and warm, bobbing against her thigh, inciting waves of excitement and expectation.
He broke the kiss and grabbed her close. Sudden sobs racked his body and he kissed the top of her head. I thought you were gone. There was no contact, only darkness.
She cried out against his chest, knees going weak. “I was so alone, I didn’t know why I couldn’t hear you.” She pulled his head down to whisper against his cheek. “Mate with me.”
He reached behind and turned off the water; she grabbed the towels. She put her hair in a towel and dried him down, frisking his chest and long legs with the towel, stopping to kiss the head of his cock. Before she could do more, he took the towel from her and grabbed a fresh one. “Your turn.”
A tingle flashed from her core to her nipples; they hardened instantly. She pressed against him when he dried her back; she bent over and wiggled her bare bottom at him when he toweled her buttocks and upper legs; when it was time for the front, she proudly displayed her breasts.
“Enough,” he growled. He pulled the towel off her head and brushed out her hair. “You need a haircut; you’re starting to look like Rapunzel.”
He rubbed hair product into her hair and drew the brush out in long strokes, pulling her over to the vanity seat so he could use the hair dryer. She let her head loll from side to side until her hair was dry and she was in a state of utter compliance.
She took the brush and tossed it on the counter. With her best don’t-give-me-any-crap look, she stood and pushed at him to sit in her place. She straddled his thighs and sat on his legs with his hard cock trapped between them at attention.
With passion in her eyes, she wet a finger and circled his head before tracing the finger through her lower lips. She rose up and came down on his cock. “Touch me, mark me, take me where I’ve never been.”