by Jade Kerrion
There was power in how his body responded to her touch, in how the lean muscles in his back alternated between soothing relaxation and clenching tension. To her surprise, the heady sense of power over him gentled her touch. She could afford to be kind. After all, he had experienced so little kindness, and now that she could see past the repulsive effect of his psychic shields, it was easy to be gentle with him.
If it made him love her, well, then that was his problem, wasn’t it? Zara swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. After all, it would serve him right to continue to yearn for her long after she walked away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The hum of Jet Skis broke the quiet of the late afternoon. One skimmed recklessly over the waves, carving wide swaths across the surface of the ocean. Another followed, more cautiously, but still faster than was safe. Carelessly joyous, they danced around each other, coming together and breaking apart to a rhythm only they could hear.
Life. Incandescent moments, poised forever on the brink of a perfect memory.
Each pass sent a spray of salt water flying, droplets spreading in wide arcs. With each passing moment, the Jet Skis strayed closer to the rocky shores of Gold Key, never abandoning their teasing dance as they taunted each other. On the first Jet Ski, the rider—a young woman, her dark hair streaming out behind her—twisted the machine sharply, almost tipping it into the water.
Galahad’s grip on Zara’s waist tightened slightly. “The plan is to crash in about ten minutes, not right now.”
“It feels unnatural breaking in while it’s still day,” Zara said, trusting the concealed microphone to transmit her voice to the others around her and to Xin on Lucien’s yacht.
“That’s probably because you have the soul of a thief,” Xin observed without malice, her voice coming through with perfect clarity in the earpiece. “This is a private retreat, not an island fortress. Subterfuge can probably get you part of the way.”
“Someone’s going to get seriously hurt,” Zara warned. Her tone promised mayhem. Galahad held on tight as she accelerated. Without warning, she drove the Jet Ski into a perfect loop. The machine shot into the air, flipped end over end, and landed in a spray of salt water. It bounced unsteadily over the surface before stabilizing and shooting forward.
Only Galahad’s exquisite sense of balance saved him from crashing gracelessly into the sea at the height of the loop. He leaned forward to shout into Zara’s ear. “What are the chances that we can crash without getting seriously hurt?”
“Two chances—fat and slim.”
“You’re especially reckless today. What’s wrong?”
Involuntary, she glanced over at the other Jet Ski, where Danyael and Miriya appeared to be having fun without the added thrill of risking a broken neck. Danyael guided the Jet Ski much the same way he did everything else, with unhurried, consummate control.
“I’m fine,” she said dismissively, twisting the handlebars of the Jet Ski to bring it around for another pass.
Miriya spoke directly to her mind, We’re ready. She was clearly not a big fan of technology, even though she had a microphone and earpiece attached to her wetsuit.
“Do we have an audience yet?” Zara asked.
Yes, there are several people watching us from the shore.
“All right. Let’s do this.”
Danyael’s Jet Ski was at least two hundred feet away. That was more than enough distance for a good run at each other. Did she trust him to do it right? More importantly, did he trust her to do it right?
“We’re either going to pull this off spectacularly, or we’ll all get ourselves killed. Who came up with a plan like this?” she asked of no one in particular.
Xin mostly, but you encouraged her.
Was Miriya laughing at her? Zara would have scowled, except that her brow was furrowed in concentration. Danyael’s Jet Ski was already accelerating on a direct collision course. They had one chance to get right what they had practiced a dozen times in their minds.
Her Jet Ski accelerated. The spray of its wake would obscure the view from land.
One hundred feet. Hold your course, Danyael.
Fifty feet. Damn, it had to work, or she would wake in heaven. Or far more likely in hell.
Twenty feet. Trust me, Danyael. I trust you.
Danyael never faltered. He never wavered an inch from the course he set. She was close, so close she could feel the emotions flowing from him. Calm. Utter certainly. Irrevocable trust.
Ten feet.
Five feet.
She swung her Jet Ski violently. It twisted in time to transform a direct, frontal impact into a glancing blow. Still, the impact threw her and Galahad from the Jet Ski. She gasped as she hit the water and sank beneath the waves. On the other side of her floundering Jet Ski, the water rippled as Danyael and Miriya plunged beneath the waves, their dives clean and graceful. They shrugged off life vests to reveal slender oxygen tanks strapped to their backs and hovered in the water, easing diving masks over their faces and fins over their feet before swimming to the north side of Gold Key.
They were safely on their way.
Zara broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. Galahad was waiting for her. He clung onto the Jet Ski that floated on its side in the water. Shouts of panic carried over the waves. The watchers on the shore scrambled into action, rushing to a boat tied to the dock. “Here come our rescuers. Think you can manage an appropriately shell-shocked look?” she asked.
“It’ll be easier than you think. You’ll have to explain to me the lure of water sports one day. I really don’t get it.”
“It helps if you know how to swim.”
“I’ll have to find time to fit that into my day, somewhere in between hiding from the government and breaking into a pro-humanist stronghold to find a friend.”
She chuckled and glanced toward the shore. People panicked, many giving orders, and only a few following them. The lack of a coordinated response did not bother her. She did not feel particularly pressed for time. Every moment wasted allowed Danyael and Miriya a better chance of making their way to the island unnoticed.
Five minutes passed before the boat finally reached them. By then, she had to expend real effort to conceal her exasperation with an expression of panicked desperation. “I can’t find them,” Zara gasped as she hauled herself into the boat. “My friends. On the other Jet Ski. I can’t find them.”
Beside her, Galahad climbed into the boat, relief in his green eyes. He was amazing, she thought. He could not swim a stroke, yet had agreed to ride a Jet Ski doomed to crash, and then handled their ungraceful water landing with good humor.
“We’ll find them.” One of her rescuers wrapped a towel around her. He turned and scanned the rough waves around the downed Jet Skis. Two bright red life vests bobbed on the surface of the waters, their wearers nowhere to be seen. His shoulders slumped, but he said, “We’ll keep looking for them.”
~*~
Several hundred feet away, safely concealed behind heavy foliage on a natural outcropping of land, Danyael hauled himself up on the rocks. He turned, offering a helping hand to Miriya as she scrambled up beside him. “You all right?” he asked as he pulled his mask off.
“Yeah. Give me a minute.” Miriya sagged against the rocks, breathing heavily for several moments before slowly stripping off the rest of her scuba gear. “They got picked up by the boat about five minutes ago,” she reported, “and they’re still making loops around the area, trying to find us.”
“Then let’s get moving,” Danyael said. He removed Miriya’s clothes from the dry bag and handed them to her before turning away to give her the privacy to change out of her wetsuit. Danyael stripped off his trunks and pulled on a black T-shirt and denim jeans. He gritted his teeth as his back muscles protested, but he managed to keep going without too much obvious strain. From the dry bag, he took out a pair of sneakers, put them on, and transferred the tiny microphone to his T-shirt. Miriya was ready too, the image of island chic in
a turquoise halter top and white cotton skirt. The pair of strappy sandals she wore was the same brilliant color as her top.
Danyael arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. Miriya responded anyway, her lips curving into a cheeky smile. “What I wear doesn’t in any way affect my ability to kick ass.”
“I’ll concede that point.” Danyael led the way down the rock cliff toward the main house. “Xin, can you hear us?”
“Yup, reading you loud and clear,” Xin said, her voice coming across through the earpiece. “Good luck out there.”
Three full acres of manicured lawns stood between them and the house. Gazebos, some massively large and others uselessly tiny, each unique in materials and design, broke the overwhelming expanse of emerald green. Danyael and Miriya strolled past clusters of fruit trees and decorative fountains. Tiny streams of water trickled musically over rocks in an endless, electrically driven cycle. It was altogether too beautiful, almost too perfect. “This looks like a place Lucien might have chosen for a vacation,” Danyael observed.
“Highly unlikely, considering the company. Lucien’s somewhat allergic to pro-humanists.”
“No mutants?”
“None that I’ve found, and very few psychic shields. None that would pose any meaningful defense against either of us.”
“Any sign of Lucien?”
“Not yet.”
Danyael bit back a curse.
“We’ve got a lot more ground to cover, but it’s a good thing we didn’t come in with guns blazing. How are you handling his parents?” Miriya asked.
Danyael shook his head. “Not well. I won’t able to hold them off any longer, if we don’t find Lucien here.”
“If we don’t find Lucien here, then it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re back to ground zero, as far as finding him is concerned.” Someone’s coming. About a hundred feet away.
The approaching footsteps, muffled by thick grass, made scarcely a sound. A man stepped past a row of bushes. His eyes widened with alarm, and he reached for his weapon. Danyael lunged forward, seized the man’s left hand in his own, and ducked as his attacker swung out. Danyael came up on the man’s other side and drove the heel of his right hand into the underside of the man’s jaw.
Danyael’s empathic powers flashed. Pain surged through the physical connection. The man’s synapses fired, overloading the nervous system. His body went limp and slumped toward the ground. Danyael caught the man in his arms, breaking his fall.
“Nice one,” Miriya said quietly.
Danyael dragged the unconscious man off the path and into a copse of bushes.
“How long will he be out?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Depends on his tolerance for pain.”
“You’re not very precise, are you?”
“We empaths leave precision to you telepaths.”
Miriya laughed but sobered quickly. “He recognized you.”
“Right, which suggests that Lucien is indeed here, and that this really is a trap for me.”
Miriya shook her head. “I’d like to know who’s behind this. Using humans against an alpha empath is plain stupid.” She paused, her green eyes distant. “The boat’s on the way back to the island. It’s getting dark, and they don’t have the right equipment to continue the search.”
“Did you tell them about this man?”
“Yes, but they’re not going to make any crazy moves until someone sounds an alarm. I think Zara’s finally learning the meaning of the word ‘caution.’”
“You really are an optimist. She can’t even spell the word,” Danyael said. His empathic senses scanned the area ahead of him, searching for emotional imprints in much the same way Miriya searched for thoughts that betrayed the presence of others.
Miriya tensed, her eyes narrowing. “Found him.”
“Lucien? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Miriya was not offended by his question. “My range is a great deal longer than yours, and unlike yours, it doesn’t get stymied by walls. He’s in the main house.”
“Good.”
“Be careful.” She placed a hand over Danyael’s. “I tried to touch him, but got pushed back.”
“He’s shielded?”
“Far more heavily than anyone else on this island that I’ve encountered so far.”
“But Lucien’s shields aren’t strong.”
“They are now. Someone powerful is shielding him, which explains why I couldn’t sense him when we flew overhead in the helicopter this morning. We’ve had to practically walk over him for me to finally pick him up. I can’t read his thoughts either, not without breaking his shields, and I’m not sure I could do that. His shields are almost as strong as yours, and I’ve never been able to get through yours.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s alive,” Miriya said shortly. “That’s about all I can promise.”
He inhaled sharply. Not good, but there were no alternatives, none that he could see. The plan had not changed. Get in, get Lucien, get out. “How many people do we have to get through to get to Lucien?”
Miriya stared at the house, squinting as if she could see through walls. “I don’t know. Twenty? Thirty?”
“You’re not very precise, are you?” Danyael asked lightly, echoing her words to him.
“You try keeping twenty voices separate in your head before you talk to me about precision.”
He chuckled quietly.
Getting to the main building did not pose any problems. They found two other guards, quickly knocked them unconscious, and dragged them off the main path. The house, a neo-classical mansion with slim columns, was similar to the colonial buildings in Nassau, save for the color. It was tastefully painted cream and white instead of bubblegum pink.
Miriya looked up sharply. “The guards didn’t call in. Our game’s up.”
~*~
The boat bounced across the waves, fighting the retreating tide to return to the dock. Zara relaxed against Galahad’s side. She pretended to drowse, but her eyes were alert as she watched the world from behind the long and delicate flutter of her eyelashes. Galahad looked away from her, his gaze lingering on the wide expanse of the ocean behind him, occasionally drifting to the two Jet Skis towed behind the boat. His expression was appropriately pensive, the thoughtful and distracted air of someone who might have lost two friends.
She wondered if he was concentrating on the steady stream of updates from Miriya. No question, telepathy was far easier than technology. Still, it frustrated her to know that Danyael and Miriya were already on the move, while she and Galahad were stuck out on the boat. She was not used to playing backup for anyone. Not even for alpha mutants.
Zara mentally followed their progress through the extensive grounds surrounding the house. She felt relief when Miriya reported that Danyael had easily taken out one of the guards. Good. He had stepped up to the challenge. She had worried that his prissy attitude over fighting, never mind killing people would get in the way, but apparently, he could get the job done.
Zara’s stomach pitched when Miriya announced that Lucien had been located, and that he was psychically shielded. She inhaled deeply to get a hold of her skittering nerves. No, not nerves. Instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong. The psychic shields made sense. They kept telepaths from locating Lucien easily, an obvious next step after having kidnapped him.
Nevertheless, the facts did not connect. Pro-humanists did not bother with psychic shields. Admitting that the despised mutants actually had some useful skills was tantamount to heresy.
Something’s wrong here, she threw the thought at Miriya.
Miriya replied swiftly. I know, but I can’t pinpoint it. All of the minds I’ve scanned seem oblivious to any darker purpose other than to look out for Danyael and to keep him from getting to Lucien.
Who is in charge here?
I don’t know. Haven’t found him. Or her.
Tell Danyael to be careful.
I will.
Silence hung heavy for several minutes. The wait gnawed on her nerves. She had to remind herself not to snarl, or she would blow her cover. A warm hand covered hers, slender yet strong fingers gently entwining with hers. She looked up and met a pair of vivid green eyes. Her heart skipped a beat.
She saw quiet confidence and amused patience. Galahad reminded her so much of Danyael. She could be happy with him. It had been her intention to be happy with him. Galahad was perfect. Danyael was not, far from it. The choice was obvious. Happiness, like everything else, was a choice. Her fingers tightened around Galahad’s. She would be happy.
Miriya’s voice screamed into her mind, shattering the privacy of the moment. The guards didn’t call in. Our game’s up.
Her eyes did not flash open. She was too experienced to make juvenile mistakes. Beside her, Galahad tensed subtly. At the helm of the boat, the captain reached for the ringing cell phone in his pocket.
Zara pushed away from Galahad and rose to her feet, strength and speed concealed beneath willowy grace. She stepped past the unsuspecting crew, confident that Galahad would take them out. The captain raised the phone to his ear. Smiling, in her full element, she placed her hand gently over the captain’s. Surprised, he turned, the voice on the other end rattling on, unheard. Her fist smashed into the captain’s jaw, snapping his head back. He recovered quickly, faster than she had expected. She sidestepped, ducked beneath his clumsy swing, and drove the side of her fist against the captain’s neck, snapping it sharply in the opposite direction. The captain crumpled soundlessly to the hull of the boat. She turned her attention to another member of the crew. The fight was quick and vicious. The outcome was never in question.
“I’ll bring the boat in,” she told Galahad. She stepped over the fallen captain. “Secure them. I don’t want them regaining consciousness and coming after us.”
Galahad studied the unconscious crew with a trained eye. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that.”