“Nice place.”
“Thanks. Look, what’s this about?”
He turned. Despite the stern mask that hid so much of his face, there was something compassionate in his expression. “Since Phillips touched you, you’ve been…seeing things. Colored lights. Glowing auras.” For an instant, a tiger’s eyes shimmered in the eye slits of his mask.
Unnerved, Arial jerked her gaze away and managed a shrug. “The doc thought it was a concussion, but the CT scan didn’t show anything.”
Tracker took a deep breath and blew it out, like a man about to impart unpleasant news. “When Phillips grabbed you, his powers Triggered yours. Those lights you’re seeing are a symptom of the transformation.”
Arial blinked at him, bewildered. “What are you talking about? What transformation? What powers?”
Even through the eye-slits of his mask, she could see the compassion in his gaze. “I hate to tell you this, Sergeant, but you’ve become a Hyper.”
The room seemed to dip. Tracker took a long step toward her, reaching out as if to catch her if she fainted. “Maybe you should sit down.”
Instinctively, she stepped away. “No. I can’t be a Hyper—that’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid it is.” He dropped his hand, pain and sympathy on his face. “For what it’s worth, I know how you feel. I went through the same damn thing.”
Blue light zipped around her like fireflies. She watched them numbly as goose bumps broke across her skin. “How? How could…” She broke off, but her mind completed the thought. How could my whole life disappear with a touch?
He shrugged those impressive shoulders. “One theory is that somehow the Power jumps from Hyper to Potential, but not everybody is susceptible. Otherwise half the people on the planet would already be Hypers. A friend of mine thinks you have to have some kind of psi to begin with, and the energy jolt just intensifies it…” Tracker trailed off, frowning as he eyed her. “You need to sit down. You look like you’re about to pass out.” He caught her by the upper arms and steered her over to the couch. They sank onto its orange upholstery together.
Snippets of memory flashed through her mind. Phillips’s voice—caught my own fucking rig on fire…it was an accident, but the bastards canned me anyway! Her own—new Hypers are emotionally unstable. Was she going to go nuts and start blowing people away? “This can’t be happening.”
She was going to lose her badge. Her apartment. Her car. Everything she’d worked for.
What if she hurt someone? Oh, God!
No. Tracker had to be mistaken. She—
An inquisitive golden muzzle thrust from the center of his chest. The tiger she thought she’d imagined earlier shoved its huge head over to sniff delicately at her. She recoiled. “What the hell is that?”
“What?” Tracker gave her an odd look. “What are you talking about?”
“Ummm. Nothing.” Great. She was hallucinating.
Or was she? Golden eyes looked up into her face, calm and assessing. Somehow the tiger’s stare steadied her, and she took a deep breath.
What if Tracker was right? What if she had become a Hyper?
One thing was for damned sure: Freaking out wasn’t going to help. If eight years as a cop had taught her anything, it was that panic made everything worse. She had to calm down, think rationally, and figure out what to do.
Much as she hated the idea, it was logical to assume Tracker knew what he was talking about—she had indeed become a Hyper. If he was wrong, it would become apparent when she didn’t develop powers. But if he was right, she needed to be somewhere someone could keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t hurt anybody. The last thing she needed was to go nuts the way Phillips had.
Arial forced herself to meet Tracker’s worried gaze. “All right. What do I do now?”
His head rocked back. “You believe me?”
“What, you’d rather I scream and run around the room?”
“I just expected a longer denial period.” His lips twitched. She noticed absently how sensual they were.
“Cops are trained to be realists, Tracker. Denial just wastes time.” And she’d learned how pointless it was when Jenny died. She grimaced. “Not that I couldn’t use a stiff drink right about now.”
Tracker’s grin was almost boyish. “You and me both. Being the bearer of news this bad is never any fun.”
She shrugged. “Could have been worse. Nobody’s dead.”
“Good point.”
“I suppose I need to register with the Feds.” Who’d tell the sheriff. He’d have to fire her. The public would go nuts if they learned a Hyper was a member of the Sheriff’s Office.
She felt sick.
Tracker frowned. “I…wouldn’t suggest it. Not right away.”
Arial frowned back. “But according to federal law, Hypers have to register.”
“And you should. Just not yet.” He sighed. “Sergeant, they’d lock you up for at least six months while they test and poke you. The transition is hard enough as it is without the kind of treatment the federal camps tend to dish out. And if some shrink decided you were a danger, you wouldn’t get out at all.”
A chill crept over Arial. There’d been news reports that the Feds’ treatment of new Hypers could be draconian in the extreme. There hadn’t been much public outcry about it, though. Hypers like Phillips had made it painfully obvious that some of them were simply too dangerous to be allowed to run loose.
But it was a lot easier to ignore civil rights issues when you weren’t facing the possibility of being locked up yourself. “So what do I do?”
“Come with me.” He leaned toward her, bracing one powerful forearm on a muscular thigh. “A friend of mine has a place in the mountains. It’s underground and really isolated—we won’t have to worry about any innocent bystanders while you learn to manage your powers. If we can get you through the next two weeks, you’ll probably stabilize enough to avoid the camps.”
“Probably?”
Tracker shrugged his broad shoulders. “Nothing’s ever certain. But I know a lawyer that specializes in Hyper cases. If we can demonstrate that you’re in control—especially given your law enforcement history—he should be able to convince a judge that you don’t need to be locked up for the public good.”
Arial shook her head. “Those sound like some pretty big ‘ifs.’”
He spread his gloved hands. “It’s the only game in town, Sergeant.”
She studied him, wishing he wasn’t wearing that damned mask. “Why are you doing this for me?”
A grim expression flickered across his face. “I knew somebody once who went to one of those camps. I swore I wouldn’t let it happen again if I could avoid it.”
“I gather it didn’t end well.”
“No. It didn’t.” He shrugged. “Besides, I liked the way you handled yourself with Phillips.”
“Yeah, right. Ending up a Hyper was a real smooth move.”
“You couldn’t have anticipated that. Besides, it took guts and quick thinking to grab that fire extinguisher and get the family out of there.”
She lifted a brow at him. “Hey, I’m a cop. That’s my job.”
“And that attitude is why you’ll make a good Hyper agent.” He gave her a smile, though it looked a little forced. “All we have to do is get you through the next couple of weeks—and convince the Feds.”
Arial sighed. “Yeah, that sounds like fun. Okay, I’ll go pack a bag.”
KALI hung in midair, one arm looped around the neck of the slave who held her in his arms. Her attention was focused on the apartment building below. Tracker and the female cop were inside.
She growled a curse. When the cop had gotten out of the car, Kali had been on the verge of descending to launch a psychic attack. Then she’d sensed Tracker’s presence and instantly realized she didn’t dare. Not without her powerhouse fighters, who were waiting back at the motel. Daedalus could carry only one passenger at a time, so she’d had to come alone.
&
nbsp; Footsteps rang on wooden stairs, and she went on the alert. Tracker led the girl out of the building to a black SUV. Kali watched them get in. The truck started with a roar and pulled away.
“Follow them,” she ordered Daedalus.
The slave stiffened against her. She felt him try to open his arms.
“No,” Kali snapped coldly, slamming her will into his mind. Forcing him to tighten his grip. Forcing him to support her, instead of letting her fall ten stories to splatter on the ground.
Daedalus gritted his teeth in rage, fighting her. Kali jerked her head around and glared into his eyes. “You heard me.”
“Yes, mistress.” Gasping, he yielded and started after Tracker’s SUV, Kali in his arms.
The wind whipped her face, cold and clean. She smiled in satisfaction and looked down to watch their prey.
Once they found out where Tracker was taking the cop, she’d bring the others in. They’d take care of the Fed once and for all.
After he was dead, Kali would add the cop to her stable of slaves.
All she needed was patience.
THE SUV sped through the night, houses and trees whipping silently past. Arial stared out the passenger side window, feeling as if she’d taken one too many head blows too close together—wrapped in a kind of throbbing silence.
Tracker shot her another concerned look, drawing her attention.
His big, gloved hands were skilled and competent on the wheel. Muscle leaped and played in his biceps as he steered the massive vehicle around curves.
A mildly shocking thought penetrated her fog. It might be fun to find out what’s underneath all that leather…
It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose, after all. Her life had been neatly derailed. Why not grab what pleasure she could?
It had been months since her relationship with Randy Evans had gone south. The detective had an ugly temper and a tendency to take the stress of his job out on her. He’d never gotten physical, probably because she’d made it clear she was willing to hit back. But she was also far too familiar with just how badly that particular syndrome could end up, so she’d broken it off. She’d been disinclined to try again since then. It seemed like too much hassle for too little reward.
But a little meaningless passion with Tracker the Wonder Stud might be just what the doctor ordered…
Oh, who am I kidding? My life is complicated enough as it is.
“How are you doing, Sergeant?” Tracker’s voice was deep and rich in the darkness.
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Fine.”
He shot her a skeptical glance. She turned to look out the window again.
THEY’D ridden in heavy silence for another twenty minutes when a golden muzzle suddenly thrust from his side to give her an inquiring sniff. Without thinking, Arial reached out and stroked a hand over the ghostly tiger’s broad head.
Sensation spilled over her, hot and somehow erotic.
Tracker inhaled sharply and stiffened, his gaze flying to her. “What did you just do?”
Arial jerked her hand away. “I…uh…just pet the tiger.”
“What tiger?”
It was halfway in her lap now, its big weightless paws on her thighs as it examined her face with golden eyes. It wasn’t as big as a real tiger—only about the size of a German shepherd, though broader and thickly muscled. Cautiously, she touched its jaw, felt thick, velvety fur against her fingers. Warmth spilled through her body. She felt her nipples harden, and swallowed. “You saying I’m hallucinating?”
“No. I felt that.” Tracker’s voice sounded strangled. He pulled onto the shoulder in a shower of gravel. His gaze locked on hers as he threw the car into park and jerked up the emergency brake. “And I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“So it’s real?” Arial stared at him as the tiger butted its big head against hers like a cat begging for an ear rub. A whipsawing purr filled the car, deep and rasping. She scratched him absently under the jaw—and almost purred herself at the sensation that flooded her. Ghostly fingers stroked her nipples, her clit, sent pleasure pouring along her nerves like a river of heated honey.
Was that amusement in those big golden eyes?
“Are you doing that?” she asked the tiger, and stroked a hand between his ears.
Even as another ripple of delight rolled over her, Tracker gasped. Arial glanced at him, startled. He sat rigidly, as if fighting the urge to writhe.
A thick bulge extended up his flat belly under the leather of his suit. She stared at it as her mouth went dry.
Somehow the thing with the tiger was affecting him, too. Instinctively, she jerked her hand away.
The tiger rumbled, the sound somehow disappointed. It butted its massive head against her hand, but Arial resisted the urge to touch it again.
Until a thought struck her. Was this her power? This thing she was doing to herself—to Tracker?
Not exactly in the same league as throwing fireballs, she thought, but a hell of a lot more fun.
Tracker was staring at her, lips parted, brawny shoulders pressed back into the seat. Somehow at her mercy.
Arial just couldn’t resist. She reached out and touched the tiger again.
JOSIAH clenched his jaw and watched helplessly as Arial’s graceful hands stroked over empty air, absently, like a woman petting a cat. It felt as if those long fingers were tracing over his naked cock, sliding between his thighs to caress his balls. Instinctively, he spread his legs, allowing her greater access.
Not that she seemed to need it.
Hunger boiled through him in a hot and savage tide. He sucked in a breath—and inhaled her scent, rich and spiced with feminine arousal. Deep inside him, something growled.
“Stop,” he rasped, though he desperately wanted her to keep going. “Whatever you’re doing, just stop.”
She froze, looking at him with those huge brown eyes of hers. “Am I hurting you?”
“God, no. I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you.” The Beast was too close to the surface. And when it came out, people got hurt.
Arial gave him a small, hot smile. “I’m not that fragile.” There was hunger in those eyes now, hunger and excitement and a certain fevered recklessness.
He knew what she was thinking as clearly as if she’d shouted the words. Everything in her life had just come crashing down around her. Her career had gone up in smoke. Why shouldn’t she walk on the wild side with a superman, when she so obviously had nothing left to lose?
“I haven’t touched a woman in two years.” The confession burst from him as a deep, tormented rasp.
Her grin flashed in the darkness, wicked and white. “Then I’d say you’re due.” She reached down at her side. The click of the seat belt was loud in the ticking silence of the car.
Normally fast and graceful, Josiah fumbled as he reached for his own seat belt. He had to get the hell out of the SUV before she…
Arial scrambled over the center console, agile as a cat. Just like that, his lap was full of warm woman, sandwiched between his body and the steering wheel. Her negligible weight came down across his desperate erection, and he groaned. Cool fingers spread over his jaw, tilting his head back.
She kissed him, her mouth warm and teasing and wet. The delightful smell of feminine desire flooded his head for the first time in two years. And he knew he was lost. With a vibrating growl of raw lust, he returned her kiss. He’d just have to control it. Somehow.
Somehow he’d keep her safe.
CHAPTER THREE
Tracker may have been living like a monk, but he certainly didn’t kiss like one. His mouth was hot and skilled, his tongue stroking deep into hers in breathtaking mating thrusts. Big gloved hands came up to cup the back of her head, angling it for his possession.
Arial sighed in delight. He tasted of mint and man—and something feral, woodsy, like a dark forest on a moonlit night. She slid her arms around his neck. His hands traced down her back to cup her backside, and he growled against her mouth, sou
nding remarkably like the tiger. His hips rolled upward, and she moaned in pleasure at the feeling of his leather-clad erection pressing against her sex.
Big hands found her breasts through the fabric of her T-shirt. Teased and caressed until she writhed helplessly against him.
She wasn’t the only one with magic hands.
He flipped the hem of her shirt up, hooked his gloved fingers into the cups of her bra, and tugged downward. Hard nipples sprang free.
Tracker’s rumble of male hunger made her shudder in anticipation. His mouth covered her nipple, suckling the tight pink point. Pleasure spiked through her, and she threw her head back with a gasp, as she ground down on his impossibly delicious erection.
And her butt hit the steering wheel.
Arial laughed. To her own ears, the sound was strangled. “Houston, we have a problem.”
Tracker grinned, more a baring of teeth than anything else. “The one nice thing about this gas guzzler is the rear seats flip down.” He hit a button on the dashboard. Something hummed behind them. “Sometimes I transport prisoners.”
“Kinky.” As Arial watched over his shoulder, the seats disappeared into the carpeted deck with a thump, extending the cargo area. She gave him a mischievous grin. “Last one into the back eats the other one.”
“Hey!”
Before he could grab her, she scrambled off his lap and slipped between the front seats. As Tracker cursed and laughed, Arial pounced on her suitcase. By the time he’d folded one of the seats back enough to accommodate his big body, she’d opened it and produced a little box with a flourish. “Condoms!”
Tracker grinned, his teeth flashing white. “Smart girl.”
“Cops and Boy Scouts, always prepared.” She ripped cheerfully into the box.
But even as she pulled out one of the plastic packets, Tracker hesitated. He looked deliciously big and broad in the dim light spilling in from the dashboard. “There’s a reason I haven’t made love to a woman in so long,” he said in a low voice. “My strength—what if I hurt you?”
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