“Looks like someone missed you,” Jake said with a smile.
I wouldn’t have said I’d been around Jake’s pet long enough for her to form that kind of an attachment, but I also would have been the first to admit that I didn’t know much about dogs. Without answering, I bent down and scratched Taffy behind the ears, and did my best to blink away the odd little pricks of hot tears behind my eyes. I didn’t know why, but something about the dog’s joyous reaction to my homecoming made me worry that my fragile self-control was about to start shredding itself apart.
“She’s a good dog,” I said, not directly responding to his comment.
He seemed to realize I wasn’t mentally ready for any kind of in-depth dialogue, because he also bent and gave the dog a couple of affectionate pats, telling her, “We’re wiped out, Taffers. Time for all of us to go to sleep.”
She cocked her head, one ear erect while the other flopped adorably to one side. But she seemed to understand this wasn’t the time to beg for treats or cajole a good belly rub out of her master, since she then trotted out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs.
Jake looked at me. Really looked, eyes so dark and deep, I was pretty sure I might drown in them. “I was so worried about you,” he said quietly.
“I was worried, too,” I replied. “But it actually wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
Silence for a few seconds as he seemed to assess my current condition. Whatever he saw in my face must have reassured him, because he seemed to nod to himself. “Okay. Let’s get you in bed.”
We headed upstairs, but when we got to the landing, he gave a worried little look in the direction of the master bedroom, as if he didn’t know for sure whether I really wanted to sleep in his bed or if I would have preferred the guest bedroom. True, we’d slept together in my rented house in Riverton, but that felt like a lifetime ago.
Even so, a lifetime wouldn’t change my feelings about Jake Wilcox. I said quietly, “I want to sleep in your room.”
No words, just his arms reaching for me, pulling me close. Our lips touched, and despite my weariness, heat awoke in me, my body telling that this was what I’d needed so desperately — Jake’s mouth on mine, his arms a strong, protective circle, the scent of fresh air and pine somehow caught in his thick, dark hair. We stood that way for a long time, until at last he let go…but only to twine his fingers with mine.
“God, Addie,” he said, voice husky, hardly more than a whisper. “I was so scared I’d never be able to do that again.”
That confession made tears start to my eyes once more. Was it because he’d stated the truth so simply, hadn’t worried about admitting his fear to me? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I loved him more than I’d ever thought I would love anyone. That love was an ache inside me, the knowledge that, while I might be able to live without him, I sure as hell didn’t want to think what such a life might be like.
“But you did,” I said softly. “Because you rescued me.”
“Angela and Connor rescued you,” he pointed out, but I shook my head.
“Don’t try to tell me you didn’t have a lot to do with that.”
“Okay,” he said, relenting. “The plan was my idea. But Angela and Connor and Lucas had to actually execute it, because it was their magical gifts that would be the most useful in that situation.”
It seemed the right time to ask. “Why Lucas?”
“His gift is luck, Addie. With him there, the rescue had a much greater chance of succeeding.”
Of course. Jake had told me about his cousin’s talent, but it had completely slipped my mind. Naturally, Jake and everyone else would have done whatever they could to ensure their plan worked the way they’d intended. “Which it did,” I said. “Although I have to wonder if Lucas’ gift is slipping a little. I don’t think it was all that lucky to have Randall Lenz come in and catch us in the act.”
“But he couldn’t stop us,” Jake replied. “That’s the important thing.”
I supposed he was right, and yet a little flicker of doubt stirred within me. If Lucas Wilcox’s talent for luck was so great, why hadn’t our getaway been completely clean?
However, it was late and I was tired, and I told myself that we could try to hash out all those details the next day after I’d had a chance to get some sleep. “Yes,” I said as my fingers stole into Jake’s. “That is the important thing.”
He kissed me on the cheek, and we went into the bedroom together. Taffy had already curled up in a little ball in the oversized dog bed in the corner, and a small smile crept onto my lips as I looked down at her. It was as if she’d known it was okay to settle down and wait for us, that we’d be along very soon.
I was already wearing a sleep shirt and a pair of capri-length leggings — and had washed my face and brushed my teeth hours earlier — so it wasn’t as if I had to do anything to get ready for bed. Jake pulled off his T-shirt and unbuckled his belt, letting his Levi’s slide to the floor. For a moment, I allowed myself to once more admire the hard lines of his body.
And yet, I knew I was too damn tired to do anything about it.
He seemed to sense my mood, because he came over and kissed me again, this time softly on the lips.
“It’s all right,” he said as he pushed a lock of hair away from my face. “We can just sleep.”
“I’m sorry — ” I began, but he only shook his head.
“Don’t you dare apologize. We have all the time in the world.”
And while I still wasn’t sure about that — not with the specter of Randall Lenz hovering uneasily in my mind — I didn’t protest, only allowed Jake to lead me over to the bed so we could slip beneath the covers and snuggle up against one another, his arms holding me close, the steady beat of his heart telling me that it was all right, that we were together, and nothing else mattered.
Holding that thought in my mind, I slept.
13
The under-secretary of the Science and Technology Directorate within Homeland Security was Wallace Bryant, a man who had worked his way up into the position from being a field agent and someone who was widely regarded as a fair, no-nonsense manager. Randall Lenz had always enjoyed a good working relationship with Bryant, mostly because his superior knew enough to stay out of the way and allow Lenz to do what was required for maximum results. At the same time, Bryant had always appeared to respect Lenz’s zeal for the work and the professionalism he demanded of all his subordinates.
At that exact moment, however, Bryant was staring at Lenz with roughly the same mixture of astonishment and derision he might have directed at someone who’d just announced that they’d seen a flying saucer hovering over the White House.
“Are you trying to tell me, Agent Lenz,” he rasped — thirty years of smoking two packs a day had done their work on Wallace Bryant’s vocal chords — “that your newest subject, the one you claimed was more valuable than all the others, has vanished into thin air?”
That was exactly what had happened, but Randall Lenz fervently wished the man could have come up with a slightly less sensational phrase to describe the abduction of Adara Grant. “That seems to be the case, sir,” he replied in his driest, most neutral tone. “The people who took her did not appear to have circumvented our security measures, either coming or going.”
Bryant leaned against the back of his seat. He was in his early sixties, thinning hair iron gray, eyes dark and shrewd. Nicotine stains showed yellow on his fingertips. “How did they get in?”
A very good question. Lenz had surmised that the operatives who’d carried out the rescue attempt had to be gifted, just like Adara and the rest of the test subjects still residing in the research facility. If those strangers truly had the ability to transport themselves through solid walls, then their talent was insanely powerful — and, by extension, exceedingly desirable.
But although Under-Secretary Bryant was of course privy to all the details of Project Daedalus, asking him
to believe that people existed who could teleport was probably straining credulity a bit. It was one thing to accept the idea that there were individuals who could control the weather or move objects with their minds or alter their own appearance. Believing that somewhere in the world there were those who could treat solid matter as if it didn’t exist was something else entirely.
There was also the frustrating fact that, even though the security cameras in Adara’s suite should have caught the entire episode, every detail of that scene had been conveniently erased from the facility’s servers. All Lenz had to go on were his memories of the incident, and he knew better than anyone else that trying to explain exactly what had happened made him sound like a madman…especially since there was no corroborating evidence to back up his story.
“We’re still working on that, sir,” he said.
“So, what you’re trying to tell me is that you don’t have anything at the moment…except a missing test subject.”
Succinct, if damning. “Unfortunately, no. Of course, it’s very early in the investigation, and I’m confident that we’ll have answers soon enough, including the identities of the culprits and the current whereabouts of our missing woman.”
From the way Bryant’s mouth thinned, it was clear enough he didn’t agree with his subordinate’s optimistic view of the situation. “I hope you do, Agent Lenz,” he said, the rasp in his voice now distinctly ominous. “I’ve continued to approve funding for your program because it showed promise, but incidents like this? It’s damn sloppy.”
“Yes, sir,” Lenz replied, shoulders straight and voice level, although the threat in Bryant’s words had sent a chill of dread down his spine. “I’ll send you real-time updates with any new developments.”
“See that you do.”
No other dismissal, but Lenz knew the interview was over. He got up from his chair, nodded at Bryant, and headed out into the hallway. Although no one appeared to be looking at him, he wouldn’t allow himself to reach up and touch his forehead to see if any nervous sweat had beaded there. Just in case he was being observed, he wanted to make sure he appeared in control at all times.
He left the under-secretary’s office in the Pentagon, got in his Audi, and drove back to the SED facility. As soon as the interlopers had left with Adara Grant in their clutches, he’d contacted Dawson and told her to get to work at once. No matter that it was two-thirty in the morning; he needed his best analyst on the job, and damn the time of night.
Now, nearly eight hours later, Dawson was still at her workstation. She’d put on work clothes before coming in — gray dress slacks and a white button-up shirt — but she still gave the impression of someone who’d rolled out of bed to come to the office, thanks to her messy ponytail and complete lack of even the minimal makeup she usually wore to work.
“Anything?” he asked as he came into the analysts’ room.
She shook her head. “I’ve analyzed and scanned the security feeds backward and forward and upside down. There’s absolutely no sign the footage has been tampered with…except that it shows Adara Grant sleeping at the time of the intrusion, and continuing to sleep through the night. Eventually, it goes blank, as if to make it seem that the camera itself has malfunctioned.”
“But it hasn’t.”
“No. We had a tech come in and test every camera in Adara Grant’s suite, and every one is operating optimally.”
Which was exactly what he had figured, but Lenz still wanted to grind his teeth in frustration. However, he didn’t want to display that kind of weakness in front of Agent Dawson, and so he made himself ask, “What about biological evidence of the intrusion?”
“Marginal. Several hairs that belonged to Ms. Grant. A few traces of dirt on the floor — we’re having it analyzed. And that’s all we have to work with currently.”
He supposed he should be glad the investigators had found even that little bit of dirt. It might be a clue — or it might have been something Adara herself had tracked in after her outing in the north field the day before yesterday. Still, he would allow himself to hold out hope, simply because otherwise, he had very little to go on.
“I think it’s the same hacker,” Dawson went on, and he lifted an eyebrow.
“What makes you think that?”
“Just that it’s all so…seamless. Whoever these people are, they’re very good at covering their tracks. And although possibly I’m flattering myself, I’d like to think that there aren’t too many people in the world who could gain access to our system.”
“So, they’re all working together.”
“It would make sense, sir.”
Yes, it would. Perhaps he was simply grasping at anything that would give some meaning to the chaos which seemed to surround Adara Grant, but Lenz wanted to believe her rescue and the continuing eradication of any evidence that might provide an actionable clue had to be part of a concerted effort. Once he found the clue that tied everything together, he’d be in a much better place to unravel the whole mess.
“I’ll be in my office,” he told his assistant. “Contact me at once if you find anything.”
“Of course.”
He left the analysts’ room and went to his office. Usually, the spare lines of the furniture there and the cool elegance of the black and white photos on the walls were enough to allow him to center himself, to practice the mindfulness he’d explained to Adara Grant only two days earlier. At the moment, however, he found his thoughts darting this way and that, no matter what he did to get them to settle down. As much as he wished he could have ignored the veiled threat in Under-Secretary Bryant’s words, Lenz knew he needed to take it to heart. Although the program might not be expendable, Randall Lenz definitely was.
All right. He sat down, then picked up the coffee mug of water that sat on his desk and took a sip. It was tepid and didn’t do much to refresh him, but he’d drunk the liquid as much to center himself as to quench his thirst.
It didn’t seem to be helping much.
Jaw clenched, he reached in his desk drawer and brought out a blank piece of paper. He’d described the scene in Adara Grant’s room to Dawson, but he thought he’d sketch it out for himself to see if doing so might help him recall something that had previously slipped his mind. In the past, he’d engaged in similar exercises whenever he found himself blocked. He wouldn’t call himself an artist — although he’d taken several studio art classes at Columbia as a break from his political science studies — but he thought he might be considered a halfway competent draftsman.
Anyway, there was the rectangle of the bedroom where Adara Grant had slept, with the king-size bed up against one wall and the single nightstand on the left side of the bed. Framed prints on the walls, dresser opposite the bed. Adara standing next to that bed, wearing the long-sleeved night shirt and leggings that had been provided for her. The three strangers close by, both the men tall. Several inches above six feet, because he himself was six foot one, and they were both slightly taller than he. The strange woman around Adara’s height, possibly a little shorter, with wavy dark hair and eyes that had flashed brilliant green when he flipped the switch next to the door.
Those eyes….
Randall Lenz blinked. It was there and gone in a flash — a sudden image of those eyes staring down at him, as if he lay on the floor and was gazing up at her.
Had he seen the woman before?
Pain lanced through his head, and he reached up to rub his temple. Although he’d certainly gone through enough that day to bring on a headache, he had no time for one. Hand shaking slightly, he picked up his mug of water and sipped from it again. Maybe he was just dehydrated.
The water seemed to help a little. After he’d drunk half the mug’s contents, he set it back down and stared at his sketch. The strange woman was pretty, with a cloud of wavy dark hair that surrounded her face and delicate, slightly sharp features.
A relative of Adara’s? That had actually been his first impression, but when he closed his e
yes and did his best to analyze their features side by side, he realized they didn’t look much alike, except for the superficial resemblance in their coloring. Adara Grant’s hair was a silky brown, not wavy at all, and several shades lighter than the strange woman’s. Also, her face was a near-perfect oval, her chin more rounded.
It would have been a good theory, but he had a feeling it was a false one.
The two men were more fodder for conjecture. Lenz had a strong suspicion they were related, because of the wavy near-black hair and the similarities in their height and build. The younger man had had greenish-gray eyes, not nearly as bright as those of the woman who’d accompanied him. He’d only caught a glimpse, and yet Randall Lenz felt he’d seen those eyes before as well — not because of the flash he’d just experienced when considering the strange woman’s appearance, but because they reminded him of someone.
Reminded him, actually, of Adara Grant.
Could theirs be the real connection in this twisted, knotty puzzle?
He turned to his computer and pulled up her file. From the screen, her face from her Utah driver’s license stared at him, intent, not smiling, gray-green eyes meeting the camera squarely.
Gray-green eyes….
Right then, he thought he would have killed for a single still shot from the surveillance system. His recall was excellent, though, and he shut his eyes and imagined the face of the younger stranger. Chiseled, handsome. Mid-thirties, so around ten years older than Adara Grant. Not much similarity in their features, but the color of their eyes had been nearly the same, highlighted in both of them by luxuriant dark lashes and strong brows.
The stranger certainly wasn’t old enough to be her father.
Brother?
She had no siblings, though.
No known siblings, Lenz reminded himself. He’d seen a facsimile of her birth certificate for himself and noted that her mother had left the sections pertaining to the biological father conspicuously blank. At the time, he’d thought Adara must have been the result of a one-night stand with a man her mother hardly knew, and that was why Lyssa Grant had never provided the information. Maybe that was still the case, but maybe…just maybe…Adara had a half-brother out there who’d somehow managed to track her down.
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