The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

by Trisha Telep

  He saved her from being taken by the government or by one of those other agencies of questionable repute. Someone with my skills can be beneficial to all types of organizations. Drug smugglers, weapons dealers, the military . . .

  Sophia shivered and jerked her thoughts to the present. She hesitated before removing her underwear. The idea of being naked with a strange man in the house unnerved her. She snorted. Unnerved. Wonderful. Considering how long ago it was that her last boyfriend declared he was too “freaked out” by her whole nocturnal existence and left, she should be seducing the handsome agent by now. She was pathetic and spouting clichés. Handsome agent. Pah.

  After a quick shower, she changed into jeans and another long-sleeved shirt. Sophia combed her hair. With her pale skin, dark hair and silver eyes, no wonder he thought she was a vampire.

  Her hair used to lighten in the sun. She had an almost normal childhood. That was the hardest part of her condition. Her eyesight had deteriorated as she aged. When she turned twelve, she was blind in bright light but, with a concentrated effort, she could bend the dim or indirect light rays around her body so she could see. But this had an unfortunate side effect; her father had jumped out of his skin the first time she had turned invisible. The appropriate name for someone with her talents was Light Bender.

  Sophia rummaged through her desk for Standing Indiana Mountain’s topographical map and pulled the coordinates of the farmhouse.

  She crept up the stairs. A thin line of white shone under his door. The deep murmur of Mitch’s voice sounded. She slid the paper underneath and retreated to the kitchen. One a.m. already. Her stomach grumbled. Slicing apples, she wondered if Mitch was hungry. Should she make him a sandwich? No. Miss Manners had told him to help himself.

  Light illuminated the hallway as his door opened. He replaced the bright lamp with a flashlight’s beam.

  Not wanting to surprise him, she said, “I’m in the kitchen.”

  He stopped at the threshold, aiming the flashlight down. Water dripped from his wet hair onto his bare muscular chest. A whole new slew of clichés jumped up and down in Sophia’s head. Her heart threatened to join in.

  “Um. Could you help? I think it needs to be stitched.” He held bandages and her father’s fire department T-shirt. The gash below his ribs oozed. “Can you do that?” At least this time he tried to mask his suspicion.

  She bit back a sarcastic reply. “As long as you’re not allergic to lidocaine.”

  “And if I am?”

  “Then I’ll give you a shot of whiskey and a rolled-up washcloth to bite down on.”

  He laughed. “I’ll pass on the washcloth, but the whiskey sounds good.”

  After she collected the supplies, she told him to sit sideways on the couch. He settled into position then doused the flashlight.

  She crouched next to him, filling the syringe. “This is going to pinch, but it will numb the area.” He smelled of soap and Old Spice - an intoxicating mix. To distract her senses, she asked him if he finished making phone calls.

  “Yeah. My team will pick me up, but it’ll take them a while to get here.”

  “How long?”

  He squinted with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

  “So I can tip Rick off.” Sarcasm dripped, but his reaction surprised her.

  He grabbed her arm. “How did you know Rick’s name?”

  “I overheard them talking.”

  “And you waited until now to tell me,” he said with an outraged disbelief.

  “Since we’ve just been sitting around doing nothing all night, I didn’t want to ruin the mood.” She knocked his hand away. Finishing the sutures, Sophia tied off the thread and bandaged his wound a little more harshly than necessary.

  Mitch touched her shoulder. “Sorry.” He pulled her beside him on the couch.

  A strange tingling rushed through her as she realized his warm fingers still rested on her.

  “It’s disconcerting to hear your voice, but not be able to see you. I need a ... physical connection. OK?”

  “Sure.” Her voice rasped. How embarrassing! But she relaxed and left his fingers on her arm.

  “Could you please tell me everything you heard?” he asked.

  As Sophia recited, Mitch stiffened. She felt his anxiety vibrate through his touch.

  “A mesh bag? Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He swore. “And—” his voice cracked “—a 4 a.m. pick up tonight?”

  “I don’t know if they meant tonight.”

  He covered his eyes with his other hand. “My team won’t be here in time. Maybe we can intercept the vehicle. Is there another road out?”

  “The airstrip.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a landing strip next to the farmhouse.”

  Mitch shot to his feet. “I need to get there. Now!”

  “What ‘treasures’ are worth risking your life for?”

  “Classified. I need a ride—”

  “Not until you tell me.”

  His hands balled into fists. She scrambled away as he stepped forwards. Mitch stopped and drew in a deep breath. “Those guys are kidnappers. They smuggle young girls to foreign countries. Young girls with special . . . talents. Some, like you, are blind assassins ... I mean—” he quickly corrected himself “—light benders.”

  “I don’t believe you. There aren’t many people like me in the world.”

  “I think you’d be surprised. Hiding in your cabin all the time, you’re a little out of touch with reality.”

  Emotion roughened his voice. “I sent my little sister to a special school after our mother died. She insisted she didn’t belong in there because she could . . . see in the dark. I didn’t believe her, of course. Your condition is rare—”

  She interjected, “It’s not a condition.” Then she stopped herself as the picture became clearer. “Your sister is a light bender, isn’t she?”

  His fingers raked his damp hair. “The kidnappers think so. But I hadn’t made the connection before meeting you. I was visiting her at the school last night when they jumped us. But I thought she had escaped. She disappeared while I was fighting with Ed’s friend.”

  Mitch’s sister was in the mesh bag. Sophia bolted from the couch. “Let’s go.”

  Mitch donned the T-shirt and ran to the phone to update his team, careful to keep his flashlight out of her eyes. She dashed out the back to prep her bike. When Mitch joined her she said, “My father’s helmet is in the shed.”

  “Any weapons?”

  “Hunting rifles.”

  “Ammo?”

  “In the cabinet in the living room. Take the thirty-thirty and my Winchester.”

  “Yours? Oh no. You’re just giving me a ride. After you drop me off, you’re coming back here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I can see in the dark.”

  Although unhappy, Mitch agreed, with conditions. “You are to do exactly what I say. No free styling. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Grumbling, Mitch used the flashlight to find the guns and helmet. He strapped the rifles on his back. The trip to the airstrip wasn’t as exhausting as the ride home. Mitch’s hold stayed loose. He moulded his body to her back. Although his warmth distracted her at times, the connection helped him match her movements faster. She realized he trusted her.

  The Honda chugged up the mountain and crested on the far side of the runway. She cut the engine and coasted to a small dip. Mitch handed her the Winchester.

  “Here’s the plan,” he said. “We’ll approach the house from the east side. If they’re still there, I’ll get in close to see who is where. You stay put. You’re my sniper. If the guys try to drive away, shoot out their tyres. Only if you have a clear shot.”

  “What are you going to do if they stay?”

  “Wait. It’s three thirty. If the plane comes at four, they’ll leave the house with the girls and I’ll surprise them. Otherwise, I’ll wait for my team.”<
br />
  His plan sounded simple. The element of surprise combined with her night vision should work well together. Something about famous last words echoed in her mind, but she squashed all doubts. She remembered listening to her father lecture the rookies at the firehouse before the blindness forced her into isolation. He’d tell them to switch off their emotions, to think and act now, and leave the worries and the panic for later.

  Good advice, Dad. But how do I get the rest of my body to comply? Her insides felt jittery and her palms left wet prints on her rifle.

  Sophia led Mitch to the east side. Both vehicles were parked in the driveway and lights shone from the first-floor windows. The kidnappers hadn’t left.

  Mitch’s relieved expression matched hers. He had enough light to navigate on his own. He pointed to the ground and mouthed the word “stay”. She saluted. He flashed her a grin, turned away, then paused.

  Something wrong?

  Her heart decided to go for a gold medal in the hundred-yard dash. I spent way too much time listening to the Olympics on the radio.

  Mitch moved to whisper in her ear. “Just in case I don’t get a chance later, thank you for saving my life.”

  “Make sure you hold on to it. I doubt the next time you’re in trouble that a blind assassin will ride to your rescue.”

  Another smile. She liked the way his eyes crinkled when he grinned.

  He cupped her chin and peered at her. “A supernatural beauty.” His gaze met hers.

  Her body turned to stone as all her nerve endings rushed to where his fingers touched her jaw. He leaned in and kissed her. Sensation flared on her lips and she returned the kiss.

  He pulled away. Sophia watched him for as long as he remained visible. Once he neared the house, she lost him in the light. She scanned the second-floor windows and thought she spotted movement, but couldn’t be certain.

  Glad the night air stayed calm, Sophia practised aiming at the tyres with her Winchester rifle. Scanning the black sky, she searched for signs of an approaching airplane. All quiet. After a few more minutes, she decided waiting sucked.

  When the grunts and sounds of a scuffle reached her, she changed her mind. Waiting was better. A thud followed a curse and she heard voices, but not Mitch’s.

  “Told you the ambush would work,” Ed said.

  “Bring him inside,” Rick said.

  A door slammed. They had expected him. How? Didn’t matter at this point. Mitch and the girls were in the brightly-lit house. Panic bubbled up her throat, but she gulped it down.

  Think now, freak out later.

  Option one: wait until they left the house to meet the plane at 4 a.m. She would play sniper, incapacitating them one by one. Won’t work. They would scatter at the sound of the first shot.

  Option two: hit the aeroplane when it landed. Unable to fly, they would be forced to drive out and, best-case scenario, run into Mitch’s team. No. They would kill Mitch. No reason for them to take him along.

  Option three: cut off the electricity and tip the playing field in her favour. Not the best plan, but she had a winner.

  Sophia moved with care, circling the house. She searched for the electric box. The light from the windows made it impossible to find. She would have to crawl around the outside walls and explore with her hands. Approaching the house from the back side seemed logical; she held out a hand and entered the whiteness. She tried to avoid the direct light.

  When her fingers touched the wood siding, she began the hunt. Two hands would be faster, but she wasn’t stupid enough to put her weapon down.

  On the west side of the house she heard loud voices through the window.

  “. . . your friend?” Rick asked.

  “Dropped me off and went home,” Mitch said.

  He was conscious and alive. Sophia let out a quiet breath as relief washed through her. The feeling didn’t last long.

  A high-pitched squeal of pain sliced the air. “Mitch!”

  His sister. Sophia wilted.

  “Let’s go over your story again,” Rick said. “We know your biker friend was near the house and heard us talking about you because Ed found a backpack and tyre tracks nearby. Biker then follows the Rover and rescues you in a blaze of glory. Here’s where your story gets . . . creative.” He chuckled without humour. “You claim the biker took you to a rustic cabin with no electricity or phones, helped you clean up, and then brought you back here. Is this correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Glenn,” Rick said.

  A heart-breaking scream erupted. Sophia rolled into a ball to keep from pounding on the window and surrendering.

  “You won’t hurt her,” Mitch said in a flat, deadly tone.

  “We already have,” Glenn said.

  “Surface bruises. You won’t damage the merchandise or you’ll lose thousands of dollars.”

  Mitch just bought her a few extra minutes. She hurried. She found the box and pulled out her Swiss Army knife. Silently thanking her father for teaching her another fireman’s trick, she unlocked the box and turned off the electricity.

  Her night vision returned as cries and curses sounded. She ran to the window and peered in. Ed and the Tank held Mitch tight. Glenn had one arm wrapped around a young girl. He had backed into a corner with his other hand pointing a gun. Rick told everyone to calm down.

  “The biker only knows one trick,” Rick said. “Stay put, I’ll get the spotlight.” He felt his way from the room.

  Sophia aimed her rifle. A million worries and doubts boiled in her stomach. What if she missed? Act now, agonize later. She held her breath, braced for the recoil, and squeezed the trigger.

  The window shattered, the noise ricocheted around the room, and Glenn slammed into the wall. The bullet pierced his shoulder right at the joint of his shooting arm. The force knocked him out. He slid to the floor with a thud.

  Bingo! One down, three to go.

  The girl yelled and threw herself flat, covering her head with her arms. Her brother had taught her well. Sophia swung the rifle towards the others. Ed dived into the hallway, but the Tank had his arm around Mitch’s neck, pinning the agent in front of him as a shield.

  “Shoot him,” Mitch called.

  Where? Mitch covered almost all of the Tank. And she wasn’t a sharpshooter. Then she realized Mitch’s hands weren’t bound. One grasped the Tank’s meaty forearm, but the other pointed down. The guy’s knee poked out between Mitch’s legs.

  Oh shit. She aimed. I bet Mitch is wishing for a real pair of bulletproof underwear. She fired the gun and the bullet hit the Tank’s knee, obliterating it. Yuck. Mitch broke away as the Tank screamed.

  “Jenna?” Mitch called, searching for his sister. They connected. The girl wrapped her arms around him and sobbed.

  “It’s OK,” he said over and over.

  I wish. She kept watch for the two men who escaped. The sound of an engine turning over came from the front of the house. Headlights stabbed the darkness.

  “Mitch, they’re in the Rover,” she said.

  The noise grew louder as the light brightened.

  “Go!” Mitch ordered.

  Sophia sprinted around the back of the house, hoping to loop behind them and shoot out their tyres. When she reached the front, light blinded her. She forgot about the pickup truck.

  A shot boomed. Wood splintered. She dived to the ground, dropping her rifle, but kept moving, pulling herself along as if the air was filled with smoke. Gravel scraped her forearms as she sought the edge of light.

  She bumped into a solid object. Please be a tree trunk, she prayed. But even blind there was no mistaking the touch of cold hard metal on her temple. A wave of terror swept through her.

  “Stand up,” Rick said.

  She stood. The gun remained.

  “Son of a bitch. No wonder you’ve been giving us such trouble. Are you working for the feds?” he asked.

  “Yes, and my team will be here any minute.”

  He laughed. “Nice try.” He shoved her
forwards. “Up against the house.”

  Rick pushed her into the wood siding. The peeling paint chips scratched her cheek, a minor thing considering the gun’s barrel now pressed on the back of her neck. She heard the Rover squeal to a stop.

  “Did you get him?” Ed asked.

  Rick snorted. “Our biker’s a light bender.”

  Well, at least he used the right name . . .

  “No shit!”

  “Take the rifle and check the house. Let Mitch know we have his friend.”

  Rick must have turned the lights back on. Time flowed like sweet tea - the kind with so much sugar it had the consistency of syrup. Sweat collected and dripped down her back. Why didn’t I ride over to Nantahala Lake tonight?

  Finally, Ed returned. “Mitch and his sister have disappeared. Glenn’s gun is gone and he and Max are in bad shape.”

  The tightness in her chest eased a bit. She hoped Mitch took his sister far away.

  “The kids?”

  “Gone too.”

  Rick cursed. “Get the spotlight and go find them,” Rick ordered. “They couldn’t have gone far.” He grabbed Sophia’s arm and propelled her into the house. “You saved his life and he left you behind. That’s gotta hurt.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “I’d rather he save those girls than me.” And she meant it. They could have full lives ahead of them — high school, graduation, college, romance, marriage and babies, if they weren’t forced to become night-time operatives for some government. Her existence was just that, an existence. She had retreated from the world, but. . . she didn’t have to. Suddenly a whole list of things she could do scrolled through her mind. If she had a second chance, she wouldn’t hide any more. If not, then exchanging her life for four others would be consolation enough.

  The fear left her, leaving behind a peaceful confidence.

  Rick kept his hold and the gun on her. The hot scent of blood filled the air, gagging her. A man moaned in pain.

  “Damn, lady. You sure did a number on them.”

  “They’re survivable injuries,” she said.

  “But they’re no good to me now. I can’t take them with me and I can’t leave them here.”

  The gun moved. “No!” she yelled. She spun, knocking his arm away as the gun fired. They fell together.