by Joan Swan
“Mom always said you were kicking me in the balls from the womb.”
Keira threaded her hands through Mitch’s familiar jet-black hair. A coil of dark emotion spiraled at her from Luke’s direction where he sat on the arm of the loveseat across the small room. Jealousy. Clear and sharp.
She’d done a good job blocking him for hours. But she was tired and hurting, and honestly, she wanted him. Wanted him to fold her into his arms, let her rest there.
“How short?” she asked Mitch.
“I’ll leave that up to you, beautiful. Just make me hot enough to turn you on.”
Keira resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This man was the biggest shit stirrer she’d ever known—and she’d lived in a firehouse.
“Are we ready to get serious?” Alyssa turned her attention to the computer screens. “These image slices start at the top of Mateo’s head and go through the base of his brain. These are sagittal. For you nonmedical people”—she shot Mitch a look—“that means vertical, and run right to left. And these are transverse, or horizontal, running top to bottom. Here, you can see all the gyri, the folds of brain matter. As you come down toward the spine, there are other structures.”
She pointed them out and named them. Some sounded familiar, some sounded like something out of a science fiction movie.
Keira sprayed Mitch’s hair with the water and combed through.
“What is all that stuff in there?” Luke had his arms crossed over his chest, angst wafting off him in tight waves. “The bright white things? The lines?”
“Those lines are the wires I told you about at the clinic.” She pointed to one of the rectangular specks seated within the gyri and followed the wire to the brainstem. “The ones connected to the chip I took out of his neck.”
Keira sifted pieces of Mitch’s hair between her fingers and snipped, trying to focus so she didn’t yank and chop in accordance with her emotions. “Do you know what they are? Can you tell what they do?”
“Typically, they’re used to repair problems such as hearing deficiencies. Only these aren’t in the right location in his brain to aid with hearing loss. Nor are they in the right location to aid in depression or seizures or limb movement, which are some more recent advances in the use of implants.”
Keira’s hands stopped moving through Mitch’s hair. “Then what the hell are they doing in there?”
“I don’t know yet.” Alyssa waved toward the myriad of open volumes spread over one end of the desk space, another computer screen above displaying a web page with what looked like a research project on the subject. “I may find something in here.”
“But you have an idea,” Mitch said. “I know that look in your eye.”
She set her gaze on Keira and cleared her throat. She always cleared her throat right before she had to deliver ominous news. Keira leaned closer to Mitch.
“Implants are simply microchips. They’re called brain-computer interfaces. They collect and redirect the electrical currents already running through the brain.
“Recently, researchers have added amplifiers, which increase and transfer the voltage to a master or control chip, like the one we removed from Mateo’s neck, which then becomes, in effect, an all-in-one power source and microcomputer, harnessing the power of the mind. Those chips have the impetus to perform whatever task they are programmed for. In the last decade, that’s typically been to move a prosthetic limb.”
“Well, he obviously doesn’t have a prosthetic limb.” Luke sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “So what else might they be doing in his brain with all this . . . current ?”
Alyssa shrugged. “The possibilities are as endless as the imagination. I don’t know enough about these implants to guess.”
Everyone went silent for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts. Keira blew out a frustrated breath, rounded in front of Mitch, and started on his cut again. She needed the distraction.
The stress in the room whipped like a hurricane. She’d lost track of where it was coming from. Her walls were now paper-thin. She’d spent years learning to control her abilities, only to find herself at their mercy again after less than twenty four hours of havoc.
“From what I can see”—Alyssa pointed at an image where several little bright spots clustered in the center of Mateo’s brain—“the majority of implants are centered around the nerves. Specifically the ocular core where nerves like the optic, occulomotor, trochlear, and abducens nerves are located.”
Teague rubbed a hand over his face. “Baby, English. Please.”
“Those are nerves that affect the muscles and functions related to vision, like eye movement and pupil constriction.”
A hot rock dropped in Keira’s stomach. She stopped cutting. “Vision.” It made complete sense. “They were trying to manipulate his powers as a remote viewer.”
Alyssa lifted her brows in consideration. “That’s the most logical conclusion.”
“Do you realize what this could mean?” Keira fisted the scissors and stepped away from Mitch, panic sizzling through her bloodstream. “If they discovered or even believed Rostov could manipulate or control Mateo’s power of remote viewing by implanting electrodes in his brain and hooking him up to a computer, what would they do to manipulate or control our abilities?”
She waved a hand at Luke. “If boiling water doesn’t scald Luke’s skin, what would happen if they implanted electrodes to amp that power? Could they make his body resistant to three hundred degrees? Five hundred? A thousand? And if flame doesn’t scorch him, what about acid? And if he’s bulletproof, what about knife-proof?”
“Keira.” Luke grimaced. “You’re making me sick.”
“What about Teague’s ability?” she continued. “If he can heal cuts at a certain temperature, stop bleeding at another, what would they have to do to enable him to cure cancer? Eradicate disease? And who would they test his abilities on?
“And then there’s me. My abilities aren’t that different from Mateo’s, only I hear, he sees. Do I need to go on?”
Here we go. Worst-case scenarios again.
She turned to Luke. “Maybe you should open your brain a little wider.”
The room went silent. Keira bit the inside of her lip.
“You two . . .” Mitch’s light eyes darted between them. “Having your own private conversation?”
Keira closed her eyes on a sigh.
“Holy shit,” Mitch muttered. “I sure as hell hope you can’t hear what I think.”
“Mitch,” Alyssa said. “You are so careless with your money. That’s another twenty into Kat’s college fund.”
Teague held up a hand. “Keira, don’t get ahead of yourself. We don’t even know that’s what these implants are for. Come over here and let me work on your cuts.”
Mitch wrapped his arm around her waist in the most offensive move he’d ever made toward her. “But not before you get a proper thank-you for my new style.”
The move didn’t feel threatening, just . . . awkward. Mitch leaned in, clearly with the intention of kissing her, but slowly. Too slowly. A direct contrast to the way he’d grabbed her. And no, she couldn’t read what was on his mind. But Luke’s thoughts pierced her skull like a knife.
Over my dead body.
Luke fisted the back of Mitch’s T-shirt and yanked him backward. “You don’t want to know what I did to the last guy who kissed her in front of me.”
Mitch shot Keira a wink before pulling from Luke’s grasp, shaking him off and hitting him with a scowl.
“Get off me, cop. She’s a free entity.”
“Guys.” Alyssa’s irritable tone made it clear her patience was low. “Knock it off. Keira, let Teague work on your cuts.”
Keira was too exhausted to take much interest in Luke and Mitch’s power struggle, one that was more about Mitch’s ability to needle Luke and Luke’s ability to stab back than it was about either one’s feelings for her.
Boys. They never changed.
She dropped into the loveseat fac
ing Teague, curled one foot underneath her, and let her friend inspect her cuts. She’d peeled the loose Steri-strips off after the shower, leaving her injuries clean and exposed.
Teague’s warm fingers started on the cut at her temple. His sure touch sent pulses of heat into the first centimeter of flesh before it dissipated, and along with it, the throbbing ache. With every inch of healing, her stress decreased another notch.
“Mitch,” she said. “Were you able to find out about the other kids who survived?”
“As soon as they were stable, the army flew them out to military hospitals. We’ll never find them now.”
“In the car,” she said, “Tony talked about Rostov’s hereditary research; said the kids that came out of the ranch were of different nationalities.”
“He probably chose different nationalities and genders and ages to test for variations in response to the chemical exposure.” Alyssa rubbed a hand across her eyes. “My God, he’s a modern-day Joseph Mengele.”
“Mangled what?” Mitch asked.
“Mengele,” Alyssa repeated. “World War Two.” When that didn’t stimulate a response, she started gesturing with her hands. “Scientist. Experimented on kids, took a keen interest in twins, injected dye into their eyes to see if they changed colors, performed amputations without anesthetic. . .” She put up both hands in a “stop” gesture. “Oh, wait. I remember now. Nicole Jamison sat next to you in that class. You almost flunked out. Mom grounded you for a month.”
Mitch’s expression went wistful. “Nicole Jamison. Mmm-mmm. Now there’s a blast from the past. Haven’t thought of ol’ Nickie in a long time.” A grin edged his mouth up. “She was so worth that D, and Dad softened Mom down to a week.”
“The double standard in action.” Alyssa looked at Keira as if gaining support from the only other female in the room. “She had an overbite, her mouth was too big for her face, and she was as dumb as a brick wall.”
“Now, now. Be nice if you want me to tell you where these came from.” He leaned over Alyssa’s shoulder, picked up the magnifying glass on the desk, and inspected the implants in Mateo’s brain. “Someone’s got to manufacture these little beauties, which means someone had to invent them first, which means someone knows what they’re used for. Write down these numbers, Lys.”
Alyssa scribbled numbers on a piece of paper as Mitch read them from each microchip. Her gaze flicked between the images and the numbers. “They’re arranged in a numerical pattern. The shape of a star where the points are multiples of three.”
Mitch’s head tilted. “Your brain is so twisted, Lys. How you can see shit like that is beyond me.”
She looked at him and fingered her earlobe. “Maybe I’ll bypass that college fund for now. She’s only seven and I could use a pair of diamond earrings.”
“Just write down anything else you know about the implants—what they’re used for, what they’re being researched for, what type of companies manufacture them and possibilities of what they might be called, like implants, brain-computer interfaces, whatever.” Mitch plopped the magnifying glass back on the desk with a clunk. “If you’re getting diamond earrings, you’re going to earn them.”
Luke still sat on the arm of the loveseat, not quite sure of his next move. Mitch had bailed after he’d taken the information on the implants with mutterings of research. Alyssa and Teague had gone to make sure both Kat and Mateo were safely tucked into Kat’s bed before they turned in themselves. And Luke was alone with Keira, who was still strung so tight he could have plucked an E note off her.
He’d been contemplating asking for a haircut. Not only did he need one, but she wanted him to have one, and, as an added benefit, he’d get to feel her hands on him. But in her current state of mind, the thought of her having sharp instruments near his head—not appealing. Besides, it was nearing five a.m. and they both needed at least a few hours of sleep.
“We’re still in America, right?” Keira planted her fists on the desk ledge in front of the computer screens,. “Liberty and justice for all? One land under God and all that?”
Luke didn’t respond, giving her time to vent. In the meantime he soaked in the sight of her—the toned muscle shaping her tan arms. The way her shoulders sloped to a sleekly tapered back and waist. His gaze dropped to her ass, the curves outlined seductively by the ultrathin silk pajama bottoms . . .
His eyes jumped back to the waistband. To something peeking over the edge, something black and lacy. Not underwear, ’cause she sure as hell wasn’t wearing any. Was that a . . . tattoo?
Her head came up and she straightened from the desk, quick, defensive.
Before she could turn, Luke planted his hands on her hips. “What is this?”
Her fingers closed over his and pushed, but she wasn’t trying to get away. Not really. If she wanted to kick his ass, she certainly had the ability.
He pushed against her grip and shoved her tank higher, her pants lower, to reveal what was indeed a tattoo. An intricate, artistic, truly stunning tattoo. One that followed the lines of her scar, the one she’d developed after the warehouse fire. One every member of the team shared in different sizes and in different locations on their bodies. Hers encompassed the width of her hips, extended downward in the shape of a V toward her ass.
“Damn, Keira.” He couldn’t keep the shock from his voice. He continued to nudge her clothes until he’d exposed the majority of the artwork along with a very sexy portion of her body, complete with twin dimples at the base of her spine. “When did you do this?”
“Luke . . .” Her voice came out a little breathless as she pried at his fingers.
“When?” He held tighter, his fingers indenting the firm flesh of her hips. “Why?”
“About a year ago.” She finally put effort behind her attempts at release and broke his grip. “Because I decided it was time to accept my abilities instead of fight them.”
His blood pulsed as she turned to face him. But her statement lit a fuse of hope somewhere inside. If she could recognize, fight, and win a battle of that magnitude within herself, maybe . . . maybe she could do it again.
“It’s . . . amazing.” His gaze skimmed up the front of her body, over the swell of her breasts cradled tight in the cross of her arms, and stopped at the spark of those blue eyes. “That’s not . . . something I ever thought you’d do.”
“What? The tattoo or accepting my abilities?”
“Either, I guess.”
“Yeah, well . . .” She dropped her arms and stood tall, chin proud. “I’m not the same person you knew three years ago.”
No. Not the person he’d known three years ago when she’d left, or five years ago when they’d first dated, or seven years ago when he’d first set eyes on her in passing at a firefighter class.
He was uncovering slivers he hadn’t even known existed. Fascinating new shiny slivers. And he wanted to explore every last one. But he found himself in this never-ending spiral where she blocked him because she didn’t trust, and she didn’t trust because she blocked him.
She flicked her wrist and the scissors flashed in the light. “Do you want a haircut or not? I won’t give you a Mohawk, for God’s sake.”
“I’m more concerned about losing an ear.”
“Eh.” Keira shrugged. “You’ve got another one.”
Luke studied the chair and debated. Maybe, if she was touching him, he could hear her. Or project. Maybe, he could soften her a little, get her to talk, get her to listen.
Worth a shot. Not talking, or rather—fighting—sure wasn’t working for them. He threw one leg over the chair and dropped in. Crossing his arms over the back, he rested his chin on his forearms and emptied his mind.
She squirted him down, and he flinched against the cold spray. While she swept the comb through his dripping hair, he tuned into her, reached out with his mind, searching, but all he got back was a low, vibrating hum.
“When are you going to call your boss?” he asked, his voice muffled against his arm
s. “And what are you going to say?”
She sidled up alongside him until her leg brushed his thigh and hip, reaching in to comb strands into her fingers with one hand and snip with the other. When she’d finished cutting and started combing again, Luke lifted his head and rested his chin on his arms so he could see her, watch her move.
“In a few hours, when he’s back in the office. But I’m not sure what I’ll say. If he’s involved in this, I’m screwed. He could bury me if he wanted to. Now would be the time to cut me off at the knees, now that I know about Mateo, about Rostov, about the ranch, and the chemicals. We’re one very big step closer to the truth. They aren’t going to let that slide.”
“What are you going to do if that happens?”
“I guess I’ll hire a good shark to cajole, manipulate, and blackmail. Then think about another damn career move. ATF hiring?”
Luke chuckled.
As Keira moved behind him, Luke closed his eyes and simply focused on the feel of her hands. The way her strong fingers massaged his scalp and tugged at his hair. The same as when they used to make love.
“Luke,” she warned. “If you want a lousy cut, keep it up.”
His mouth turned in triumph. “I’m a guest in your mind again? You’ve been blocking me for hours.”
“I still would be, but I just don’t have the strength right now. Besides, it’s not that easy. Unfortunately.”
She continued to move around him, swaying to one side, leaning to the other, comb, snip, comb, snip. She swept her hand over his shoulder, across his forehead. He could sit here forever like this, with her body heat circling him, her fresh scent toying with his senses. His world felt so right, so complete when she was within reach.
He opened his eyes as she stood in front of the chair, lifting her arms to reach for the top of his head. Her tank rode up her flat belly, and a flash caught his eye. One he’d never seen there before.
“Whoa.” His hands landed on her hips, thumbs pushed her cami up to reveal a diamond stud in her belly button that teased him with a wink. “Well, look at this. You are just full of sexy surprises, aren’t you? How long have you had that?”