The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

by Trisha Telep

  She had her Honda. The 250 cubic centimetre engine would keep up with the vehicle, and she had her . . . other talent, if desperate. Running to her bike, she jammed her helmet on, and kicked it into gear.

  The beams of light from the Rover sliced the darkness, making it easy for Sophia to follow. Since she didn’t need a headlight, the men should be unaware of her presence.

  After bouncing and crashing along the tight trail for thirty minutes, the vehicle swung to the side, illuminating a thick patch of underbrush.

  Sophia silenced her bike and coasted to a stop about a hundred feet up the trail. Propping the bike, she crept closer. The men stepped from the vehicle, leaving the engine running.

  “Perfect spot,” Glenn said. “He’s starting to wake. Take him out to those briars.” He checked his weapon.

  Ed pulled the captive out. The man staggered. Ed steadied him. The agent’s wrists were handcuffed behind him. Cuts lined his face and a purple bruise covered his swollen right eye. He looked groggy, but when Glenn flashed his gun, he snapped awake.

  “Easy there, Mitch,” Ed said. “We’re just going to leave you here to find your own way home.”

  “Right.” Mitch’s voice rasped with sarcasm.

  “Come on.” Ed dragged him towards the briar patch.

  With her heart doing gymnastics in her chest, Sophia bent the light around her, rendering herself invisible to the men. She reached the vehicle and crawled towards the front tyre, keeping her eyes on the men and away from the burning brightness. When the two men stepped into the Rover’s headlights, they disappeared from her vision.

  One chance. Sophia opened the driver’s side door and switched the headlights off, plunging the three men into total darkness. Points scored for middle of nowhere.

  Mitch used the sudden blackout to kick the side of Ed’s knee. Ed crumbled to the ground in pain.

  “Shoot him,” Ed said.

  “I can’t see, you idiot!” Glenn shouted. He fumbled for the Rover’s door handle.

  The agent ducked and ran, but tripped and crashed. Without light to bend, Sophia became visible. She darted after the agent. He regained his feet as she caught up to him.

  “I can help you,” she whispered.

  He jerked in surprise, but thankfully stayed quiet.

  “Follow me. I have excellent night vision.” She put a hand on his arm and guided him towards her bike. “Hurry.”

  They reached the bike as the Rover’s headlights lit up the area. Silently thanking Honda for electric starters, she mounted.

  “Over there!” Ed yelled. “What the hell?”

  A gun fired.

  “Jump on,” she ordered. Panic threatened to scatter her senses, but she bit her lip.

  The bike sank as Mitch’s weight compressed the suspension. He wouldn’t be able to hold on to her.

  Another gunshot cracked through the air. Mitch grunted.

  “Lean on me.” She put the bike in gear, then took off down the road and away from the Rover. Mitch’s stomach and chest pressed against her back.

  Doors slammed and tyres spun on gravel.

  “They’re chasing us,” Mitch said with urgency.

  Great. Her heart dropped to her stomach to do a floor routine. Sophia reviewed her options. With his hands bound, she couldn’t ride off-road with him. The Rover’s headlights behind her caused sections of the road to disappear from her sight, making it difficult to navigate. She could bend the light around the bike, but if the headlights aimed directly at them, they would be suddenly visible.

  She manoeuvred around a turn. Mitch leaned with her. He’s been on a bike before. Perhaps she could cut through the mountains and lose the Rover. She searched for an appropriate path.

  When she spotted a tight trail, she turned so Mitch could hear her. “I’m going off-road. Match my movements.”

  “Jesus, lady, you don’t even have a headlight.”

  “Would you rather stay?”

  “No.”

  Slowing to half-speed because of her passenger, she struggled to find a path that wouldn’t unseat him. Curses, yells and a few more gunshots sounded. She concentrated on riding, pouring every ounce of energy into it.

  “We lost them,” Mitch said.

  With her arms shaking from fatigue, she stopped. Mitch dismounted and dropped to the ground.

  “That was close,” he said. “You saved my life. Where the hell did you come from?”

  She removed her helmet. Her long ponytail snagged in the strap. Sweat stung her eyes and soaked her shirt under the chest protector. “I was riding and saw you needed help.”

  “In the middle of the night without a headlight?” His tone implied disbelief. “It’s pitch-black out here.”

  “I told you I have good night vision. Besides, I grew up around here. I know these hills like a bat knows its cave.”

  “What’s your name - Bat Woman?”

  “No. Wonder Woman. My invisible plane is in for repairs so I had to use my super bike.”

  His shoulders sagged. “Sorry. It’s been a hell of a day. I’m Mitch Wolfe - a federal agent, and I’m going to need more of your help.”

  “Sophia Daniels. I’ll do what I can.”

  “First, I need to get these cuffs off.”

  “My tool kit—”

  “I have a key in the—” he cringed “—waistband of my underwear.”

  She couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Are they special spy underwear?”

  “Yep. They’re bulletproof, too. A man can’t be too cautious when it comes to personal safety.” He laughed with a deep, rich rumble that rolled right through her. “It’s a master handcuff key. It’s along my left side.” He regained his feet.

  His grey T-shirt was ripped and stained with blood. Too much blood. She gasped. “You’ve been shot.”

  “I felt a nick.”

  She pulled his shirt up. A deep gash oozed near his ribs on the left, cutting across the ripple of muscles along his abdomen. “It’s more of a slice. You’re going to need sutures.”

  “Sutures? Don’t tell me my nocturnal rescuer is also a doctor because that would be another hell of a coincidence.”

  “My father was a paramedic. I have supplies—”

  “Later. Key first.”

  Sophia tried pulling the waistband up past his jeans.

  “You need to unbutton the pants,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  She hesitated before fumbling at the button. Wonderful, Sophia, she chided. You’re coordinated enough to jump a dirt bike over Ranger’s Gap, but you can’t undo one button. An eternity later, she ripped the key from his waistband and unlocked the cuffs.

  He groaned with relief, rubbing his raw wrists. Sophia realized she stood rather close to him, and he was a stranger. He was about six inches taller than her own five foot eight, and had arms like a professional quarterback. He looked about thirty, a few years older than her. Mitch claimed to be a federal agent, but she didn’t have any proof.

  She remembered his injury and reached for the first-aid kit in her backpack but stopped. Her pack! She had left it by the airstrip. A quick mental scan of the contents made her relax. No personal information, but she didn’t have the kit, food or water.

  He tapped his pockets. “Shit. They took my wallet, phone and gun. Do you have a cell?” Mitch rebuttoned his jeans.

  “No signals out here.”

  “Where then? I need to make a call. The sooner the better.”

  She sighed. No other choice. Her house was the closest. “I have a landline.”

  “Within walking distance?” A hopeful note crept into his voice.

  “No. About twenty miles off-road.”

  “And on the road?”

  “Fifty.”

  “Damn. I’m going to have to trust your night vision again, aren’t I?”

  “Yep.” Buckling up the chest protector, she donned her helmet.

  A queasy expression creased his sharp nose and he rubbed his hand along his five o’cloc
k shadow. Long black eyelashes matched his almost military-style short black hair. His uninjured blue eye stared at her in concern.

  “Relax, Mitch. I’ll get us there in one piece. After we jump the chasm of death, we’re home free.”

  “Funny,” he deadpanned. “I don’t suppose you have another helmet?”

  “Nope. But if we do crash, I’ll aim for the right side to even out your injuries.”

  He gave her a wry grin. “Enduring poor attempts at humour is better than being dead. At least, you have a decent bike. My fragile male ego wouldn’t be able to handle being rescued by a lady on a scooter.”

  With a passenger on board, the trip to her house lasted twice as long as normal. Mitch clutched her waist with a vice grip. He cursed and muttered under his breath, but matched the rhythm of the bike’s motion.

  When they arrived at her small log cabin, he slid off on unsteady legs. The bloodstain on his shirt had spread. Sophia tossed her helmet and gear into a pile. Leaving the bike next to her shed, she led him into the living room.

  The place followed the standard mountain cabin decor -comfortable recliners, plaid-patterned couch, faux bear rug and animal paintings.

  “Sit down before you fall down.” Sophia guided Mitch to the couch.

  “Are you going to turn on the lights or did you forget to pay your electric bill?” he asked with a nervous edge.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, summoning the strength for a difficult explanation. If there had been a phone anywhere else, she would have avoided this.

  Working up the nerve, she said, “I can’t tolerate visible light.”

  “Can’t tolerate light? Like a vampire?” His confusion turned into alarm.

  She huffed with exasperation. “I wish! At least vampires can go to a movie.”

  Mitch gestured as if calming a crazy person. “Look, all I need is to use your phone.”

  She sighed. Shouldn’t have made that vampire crack. “I’m sorry. I’m not explaining it well. I’m out of practice.” Sophia drew in a breath. Time for the standard spiel. She would love to tell the truth, but who, except the wrong people, would believe her? So instead, she said, “I have a rare disease called erythropoietic protoporphyria or EEP for short. Light kills my red blood cells, so I have to avoid all visible light, which means I live in the middle of nowhere with no TV, computer or ...” Human contact. But that sounded pathetic.

  If anything, her story made him more uneasy. She wondered why.

  “What do you do when the sun comes up?”

  Retreat to my coffin. “I sleep during the day.”

  He had an odd . . . queasy expression. Perhaps he searched for words of regret or encouragement that she didn’t deserve to hear. Before he could speak, she said, “There’s a phone and a lamp in the guest room, and a light in the guest bath. You can make your call and at least clean that gash before it becomes infected.”

  “Phone call first.” He surged to his feet, but paused. “Where are we?”

  “North of Shooting Creek, North Carolina.”

  “North Carolina! I didn’t realize ...” He rubbed his hand on his swollen temple. “How far to Knoxville?”

  “One hundred and thirty miles.”

  “Damn.” He considered. “Do you have an address?”

  “I have GPS coordinates. Will they work?”

  “Yeah. I just wish I knew where they were heading,” he muttered more to himself than to her.

  “Your friends?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Sophia realized he didn’t know about the farmhouse. She explained. “It’s isolated, but I can pull the GPS coordinates off a topographical map for you.” Strangely, her offer increased his apprehension.

  “Good.” He seemed distracted. “Where ... is the phone?”

  She took his hand in the pitch-darkness and guided him to the guest room. The cabin’s first floor contained a kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom. Her room and another bath were down in the basement.

  Handing Mitch the cordless phone, she put his other hand on the lamp switch. “Wait until you hear the door close before turning the light on. I’ll go pull the coordinates for you.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  A strange hitch in his voice worried Sophia but, considering what the man had been through tonight, she didn’t blame him. She was halfway to the door when he flicked the lamp on. Blinding whiteness obscured her vision. She stumbled and bumped into a chair.

  “What did you do that for?” she demanded, fumbling around. Where was that door? The light was too strong for her to bend.

  Instead of answering, Mitch grabbed her wrists and pushed her against a wall.

  “Let go!” Fear flushed through her. Idiot. Why hadn’t she asked for identification?

  She tried to kick him, but missed. He pressed his weight on her, pinning her legs.

  “You can’t see me, can you?” Accusation laced his voice.

  “Turn off the light.”

  “You’re working with Ed. What’s the purpose of your mock rescue?”

  “I’m not working with anybody. Get off!”

  “Don’t lie. I just have to look at your eyes to know you’re one of them. I suspected, but when you said you were ‘out of practice’ I knew for sure.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re one of those. Who are you working for?”

  Anger flared. “Guess I couldn’t fool a federal agent. You’re right, Sherlock. I saved you from those goons just so I could bring you back here and kill you.” She tapped her head against the wall. “Oh damn! I left my Glock in the other room.”

  “You know what I mean,” he said. “Your so-called night vision is physically impossible. I’ve trained for night ops. There’s not enough light out here for night-vision goggles. You can see in the dark, but are blind in the light. So, who are you working for?”

  She struggled to free herself, but his body trapped her. He wasn’t buying her medical condition bullshit. He knew all about her. Not only could she even see colours in the dark, but read, too. The blacker the night, the better her vision. She had been born with a strange power and, as far as she knew, there weren’t too many other people like her in the world.

  “Tell me now or I’ll take you into custody for questioning.”

  An image of being blind and helpless in an unknown place filled her with dread. Avoiding that situation had been the whole reason she lived here. She was out of options. Shit. “I’m not working for anybody. That’s the whole point of living miles away from civilization.”

  That made him pause. “You’re in hiding?”

  “Give Mr Super Detective a gold star.”

  “From who?” The suspicion was back.

  “Everyone!” Her father would be livid if he were alive. She had just undermined all his efforts to keep the government from knowing where she was hiding. Sophia would never forget the day the agents had visited them. They had called her special, and wanted her to train at an exclusive school to become an agent. Her father promised them he’d take her there. Instead of driving to the school, he headed for the hills. When she questioned him, he had explained that the government would train her to sneak around in the dark, stealing, spying and killing people for them.

  “And you’re the worst.”

  “Me?” Mitch balked.

  “Yes. You said it yourself. The government wants to exploit people like me. We can see in the dark. That’s a handy skill for an agent. The Federal Agency for Supernatural Security, my ass. You guys are the one group of people who give me no sense of security whatsoever. What is it you guys call us, again? The phrase is so hateful.”

  Mitch hesitated. “Blind assassins. But they do other . . . jobs as well.”

  “Do you think the members volunteer?”

  “No. No, they don’t,” he said in a quiet voice. “In fact, for a long time I thought blind assassins were just an urban legend. Agents would blame them for unexplained events, things you w
ould usually blame a ghost for, like rearranging your knick-knacks, or hiding your car keys. An agent even joked once that Bin Laden used a blind assassin to help him escape through the caves in Afghanistan. At least, I thought he was joking until . . .”

  He released his hold. She didn’t wait. Inching along the wall, she searched for the doorway with her hands. Was she even going the right way?

  The lamp switched off, flooding the room with darkness. She sagged with relief. Mitch sat on the edge of the bed with his hand on the lamp.

  She darted to the doorway, but paused at the threshold. “Until . . . what?”

  “Until tonight,” he said.

  “Are you going—”

  “No. I won’t tell anyone about you.” He gave her a sad smile. “But I might try to recruit you. You could find Bin Laden’s hideout and—”

  “Not interested.”

  He sighed. “Could you get the coordinates of the farmhouse for me?”

  “Sure. There’s a first-aid kit in the linen closet, clean T-shirts in the drawers. They’re my father’s, but . . . but he’s dead. The shirts should fit you; he used to be a firefighter before he was a paramedic.” She babbled, but couldn’t stop herself. “There’s food in the kitchen and flashlights in the closet. Help yourself.”

  Sophia ran downstairs to her bedroom. Embarrassed and upset, she had a whole gymnastic team of emotions doing twists and flips in her chest. He had attacked and threatened her and she had transformed into Miss Manners. She should have kicked him out. One phone call, buddy and go. Was she that desperate for company? Yes, she was.

  Before tonight she thought she didn’t need anyone. She had her books, her dirt bike, her pen pals, and was learning how to paint.

  God, you are pathetic.

  She wanted to hide under the blankets, but she needed a shower and had promised Mitch those coordinates. Kicking off her motorcycle boots, she headed for the bathroom. She peeled off her long-sleeved riding shirt and padded bike pants. Not very sexy.

  Her father had threatened to pull the spark plug from her bike if she didn’t wear all the gear. Mr Safety. She missed him like crazy. He had changed his lifestyle for her, sleeping in the daytime so he could be with her at night. He taught her how to hunt and how to ride.