The Steve Williams Series Boxed Set

by J. E. Taylor

  “You can heal people?” Again, Jennifer’s shrunken form passed through his head.

  “No. Not anymore.” He glanced back. “I gave it all to him. Any sort of healing powers I had transferred to him that day.”

  Steve slowly sank into the nearest chair. “Why in God’s name would you do that?”

  “I was eight. I didn’t know any better.”

  “So why didn’t you turn him in when he came back into the picture?”

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  Considering what he just saw in the video, Steve laughed.

  Eric ignored Steve’s laughter. “You know who Frank Aris is, right?”

  “He was your uncle.”

  A bark of a laugh escaped Eric, he had never thought of it that way. “Man, that’s fucking twisted.” He shook his head, meeting Steve’s intense gaze. “But, technically true.” An involuntary shiver rippled through him. “He came after us.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Eric said. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this, you’re just gonna turn around and throw us all in jail.”

  “That depends.” Steve crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, placing his feet up on the desk. His curiosity flared, creating an itch at the base of his neck that could only be satiated by the full story.

  “Depends on what?”

  “How good the story is,” Steve admitted with a smile.

  “The ghost raped my sister,” Eric said.

  Steve’s smile disappeared. The memories of Jennifer’s multiple rapes flashed through his mind.

  “Jesus,” Eric recoiled, paling at the visions.

  Steve’s eye narrowed. “You saw that?” He walked around the desk and on impulse Steve grabbed Eric’s right wrist with every intention of peeling the clenched fist open to see the knife scar. The instant assault of visions fed from Eric made his breath hitch and his heart hammer fast enough to border heart attack status.

  He yanked his hand away, the contact broke and the panic abated, but he now had the entire history of Eric and his family embedded in his brain. The transfer had taken minutes but it seemed like years.

  Eric sat stunned, blinking up at Steve with wide, scared eyes.

  “What the fuck did you just do?” Steve finally asked when he was sure his voice wouldn’t shake.

  “I, uh, I have no idea. I’ve never done that before.” Eric stared at his hand and the stormy colors in his cornea, wavered, swirling then settling back into place.

  “I’ve got to meet your family,” Steve lifted his gaze, looking through a lock of hair that had fallen out of place. “You’re mother in particular.”

  Not on your life.

  “I’m not sure you understand. She’s the miracle I’ve been looking for,” Steve said. His mind raced a mile a minute cataloging, scanning the memory dump. Awed.

  The powers they possessed were light years beyond Jennifer’s haunting clairvoyance; mind reading and healing were just the tip of the iceberg. He saw everything. Every nuance. Every strength. Every weakness. Everything.

  She can’t fix your wife. Eric’s eyebrows lowered with doubt.

  “What do you mean she can’t fix my wife?”

  Holy shit. You can read my mind now?

  Steve started to laugh. I guess so.

  “Can you?” Eric asked. Shit, I can’t hear him anymore.

  Steve stopped laughing. “You can’t hear my thoughts anymore?”

  For the first time since he was born, Eric couldn’t hear what others around him were thinking and his mouth went dry. He slowly shook his head. “No.” He mopped his face with his hand, his eyes going even wider. “Holy shit.” He moved his chair back. “My mom is going to freak.” The ramifications of what just occurred hit as fatally as a head on collision at a hundred miles per hour.

  He had transferred not only his memories, but also his mind reading ability to Steve Williams.

  They stared at each other for a moment and then Eric bolted from the room.

  Chapter 17

  Eric sat on the front steps watching the stars in the night sky. He took the time to analyze the conglomerate of memories that Steve downloaded. The anger he carried festered, poisoning his judgment and driving him in a direction he couldn’t go, a direction that would destroy him if he followed the path of vengeance.

  Eric refocused on Steve’s brilliance. The man could see connections that others couldn’t and Eric was sure that if anyone else did a frame-by-frame analysis of the video footage, they would not have seen what Steve did.

  “Twelve hours,” he whispered to the night shaking his head. Steve did in twelve hours what no one else had been able to do in fifteen years. He closed his eyes, hanging his head and listened to the crickets chirping.

  He opened his eyes at the shuffling of fabric next to him.

  Steve took a seat on the stairs next to him. “How much of my life did you see?”

  “I saw everything.”

  Steve was quiet.

  “What are you going to do?” Eric asked. Jesus, why did I ever agree to be his partner?

  Steve sighed. “You might want to request another partner, Eric. You don’t want to go where I’m going.”

  Eric studied the shadow of the trees lining the other side of the road. “Are you going after my stepfather?” Eric asked, voicing the thoughts he knew Steve already heard but ignored.

  “It’s not right that he’s free after everything he’s done.”

  “My little brother won’t let you near him.”

  “CJ? There’s an interesting kid.”

  Eric shot a glare in Steve’s direction. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “I’m just saying he’s an interesting kid.” Steve studied the patterns of the stars.

  He saw the wheels turning in his partner’s mind and shifted, uncomfortable without the ability to get into Steve’s head, to know what was coming. What am I going to tell my mother?

  Steve chuckled. “Momma’s boy?”

  “Shut up!”

  After a few minutes of hushed tension, Steve broke the quiet. “I’m sorry. That was out of line,” Steve said. “I can be a real shit sometimes, but you already knew that.”

  Silence filled the space between them broken only by the sounds of the night.

  Eric, still processing Steve’s history, focused on Steve’s wife. The strongest memories were the inconsequential ones. The line of her neck, her musical laugh, the way she teased him, the way her chin jutted out when she got stubborn. Eric blushed at the more intimate memories, shuffling through them as quickly as possible, especially with his partner sitting next to him, privy to every thought. She was a hot ticket, even when she was pregnant.

  Steve surveyed the night sky. “I miss her.” He looked down at the wedding band on his left hand, twirling it absently.

  “You’re lucky.”

  Steve shot a glance his way.

  “I don’t think I’m destined to find my soul mate,” he said and leaned back on his elbows stretching out on the steps.

  Steve looked away. “Yeah, well, my soul mate is clinically brain dead in a hospital bed in New Hampshire.” He stood and disappeared into the building, leaving Eric to noodle on that for a while.

  Chapter 18

  Screaming voices, like fans in Fenway Park during a Yankees game, barreled in Steve’s head, vaulting him into a sitting position, hands covering his ears. His eyes darted around the empty room and his breath came in harsh pulls. The thoughts of everyone in the dorm assaulted his mind all at once. “Jesus Christ!” he swore, much louder than he realized.

  A soft chuckle breached the darkness, breaking through the sounds in Steve’s head.

  “How do you shut them up?” Steve yelled the question, trying to hear his own voice above the clatter.

  Eric shrugged and rolled, leaving Steve only his back as an answer.

  “Fuck,” Steve muttered and tried to block out the clamor. Sleep finally overtook the voices
as the sky began to lighten, pushing him into a dark dreamless slumber.

  The alarm woke him an hour later. Grumbling at the din still raging in his head, he slid out of bed and slapped Eric on the head. “How do I stop this?”

  Eric’s sleepy eyes blinked and he struggled to get his bearings.

  “Yes, last night was real. Now, how the fuck do I stop the voices?”

  “Concentrate on your own thoughts.” Eric muttered and slid out of bed. “Or focus on one person at a time.” He left the room to grab a quick shower before their morning regiment began.

  The ten-mile jog was enlightening. At first, the noise level was distracting, but by the end of the jog, before they reached the field training obstacle course, Steve was able to control the din to an acceptable level, focusing on specific classmates, and Eric hadn’t been kidding. The females in the group had some very interesting ideas of what they wanted to do to him. He blushed and tried to wipe the smirk off his face as he cast a glance in Eric’s direction.

  Eric laughed aloud.

  Steve focused on Eric. The kid wasn’t thinking about anything, just a big blank page of paper. Huh, that was strange.

  Steve and Eric ran neck and neck through the obstacle course and sprinted to the dorm to clean up before their advanced behavioral science class.

  Eric walked into the room ahead of Steve, stepping over a package on the floor. “You’ve got a package,” he said over his shoulder.

  Steve picked up the nondescript envelope and opened it. Inside was a computer disc and nothing else. Steve crossed to his computer and took a seat, booting it up as he studied the envelope, twirling it in his hand, looking for any hint of where it came from. He raised his gaze to Eric.

  Eric hung back. “You weren’t expecting anything?”

  Steve shook his head. He popped the disc in and the screen filled with the inside of his cabin last spring.

  “I figured you might want to see what your wife and I did before you came home.” Kyle announced from the screen.

  His cheeks tingled as the blood rushed into his skin, leaving it as hot as the anger boiling in his veins. Kyle was fucking Jennifer on their couch and she called out the bastard’s name. Their couch. She called out his fucking name on their couch.

  If he could have blown the monitor to pieces with his mind, it would have vaporized under the fury that sparked. Steve sent his fist through the glass with a guttural cry that echoed off the concrete walls of the dorm room. Pieces of glass stuck in his knuckles, but he didn’t feel the pain that should have accompanied the jagged shards.

  The insane contortion of Steve’s face was enough to make Eric take a step backwards. He felt for the door and Steve picked up the monitor, spiking it on the floor. “You might want to calm down.”

  Steve paced back and forth, muttering under his breath, his entire body shaking. He couldn’t form the words for the rage overtaking his being. A roar filled the room and he threw himself face first on the bed.

  Eric took a tentative step toward Steve. He’s finally snapped.

  Steve growled with his face in the pillow. “I’m not crazy!” He glanced toward Eric. “I’m pissed!”

  “Oh, well, that makes me feel eons better.” Eric rolled his eyes.

  Steve cracked a smile. “Now’s not the time to be a smart ass. Okay?”

  Eric nodded and relaxed a fraction.

  “He’s in town,” Steve said, looking at the destroyed monitor.

  The window disintegrated. The echo of a rifle shot drifted through the shattered glass. Steve’s eyes went wide at the shot’s destination.

  Catapulted backwards by the force of the gunshot, Eric stared at the blood covering his chest and slowly slid to the ground, leaving a red trail on the door.

  Steve rolled off the bed, grabbing his cell phone and crawled to Eric. “Goddamnit.” He stared out the window hearing the bastard laughing over the dim noise of thoughts.

  He rattled off the situation to the 911 operator and grabbed the towel Eric dropped, pressing it to his chest in a futile effort to save his life.

  “Jesus, kid.” Steve examined the gunshot wound, shaking his head and meeting Eric’s frightened stare. He pressed the towel back in place.

  Eric grabbed Steve’s wrist. “Leave them alone.”

  Steve raised his eyebrows. “Don’t worry about that.”

  Eric’s thoughts centered on his parents and not the current situation. “Promise you won’t ruin their lives.”

  “I promise. Now just hang in there.”

  You know it’s too late. Tell my family I love them. Eric’s eyes fluttered closed and his last breath wheezed out in a shaky rasping gurgle.

  “Shit!” Steve dialed the familiar number as the ambulance pulled in. “Jack, the son of a bitch killed the kid.” Chaos descended around him.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Jack asked.

  “Kyle.” Steve popped the disc from the computer, put it in the sheath it arrived in and glanced out the window. “Kyle shot and killed Eric Connor!”

  Chapter 19

  Steve sat in the airport, turning the disc over in his bandaged hand. His throat tightened and the boulder sitting on his chest got a fraction heavier, his breath shallow and painful against the pressure. He forced a deep breath, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the seat. The slow exhale seemed to remove the rock cutting off his breath and he opened his eyes, lowering them to the computer in his lap. He plugged in his headset and slipped the disc in the slot. Gritting his teeth, he pressed play.

  This time he watched the entire disc. The edited scenes switched from one lewd shot to the next and in all of them; Jennifer seemed willing, responding to Kyle like she had with him. Her moans of pleasure made him shiver. He heard that sound for close to three years whenever he made love to her and his chest tightened again.

  The video transitioned, zooming to a close up of her face as she called out Kyle’s name. Her perfectly unmarked face. The video faded to black with Kyle’s laughter filling the void.

  “No,” he growled low in his throat. “There’s no way she wanted you to touch her,” he said without conviction. He closed his eyes and let the assault of thoughts of the strangers around him take over his mind, leaving no room to lament over what he had just seen on the disc.

  Steve opened his eyes and stared at the blank screen for a few moments before replaying the disc. This time instead of concentrating on Jennifer, he was looking for something specific and when he saw the detonator clutched in Kyle’s hand, he let out the breath he had been holding, a miniscule amount of relief washing over him. He let his head dip to his chest and shut his eyes, willing the tears to stay below the surface. His wife put on a first rate performance to save their daughter’s life.

  Steve turned the computer off and closed it, tucking it back into his bag. The aimless thought process of strangers still interjected in his head.

  How the hell did you deal with this all the time?

  He turned and looked around trying to focus on one person at a time like Eric suggested. When he honed in on one person, all other noise dimmed to a whisper, but that person’s thoughts were like a beacon on a dark stormy night.

  The boarding announcement for his plane came over the PA system and he picked up his carry-on bag heading toward the concourse. The direct flight from Washington National to Boston took a little under two hours.

  As Steve slid behind the wheel of a rental car, he flipped open his phone.

  “Hi, Jack. I just landed. It should take me about an hour to get to the Ryan’s house in York.”

  “I’m almost at the Connor’s. I’ll catch a bite to eat before I head over,” Jack replied.

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.” He flipped the phone closed and pulled onto the road. Steve opened up the sporty rental coup, flying at close to a hundred miles an hour, making it to York, Maine, in less than forty minutes, navigating the side roads using Eric’s memories.

  He pulled
up to the gate surrounding the Ryan residence and looked at the keypad. He knew the entry code but pressed the call button instead, opting not to surprise them in that manner.

  “Hello?” A little boy’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Hi, my name is Agent Williams; I’m a friend of Eric’s.” How the hell am I going to tell them this?

  “I know who you are.” The gate opened.

  “Thank you, CJ,” Steve answered, already knowing the owner of the young voice.

  Steve pulled up the driveway and sat in the car looking at the house. Understated and almost quaint. Quite the opposite of what he expected from one of the richest men in the world. His hands shook as he reached for the latch. Both excitement and dread flowed through his veins and he opened the door stepping onto the gravel driveway, the crunching sound of his boots filling the still air.

  CJ Ryan stepped outside, closing the front door behind him, watching Steve approach and wearing a somber expression. “You’re here to tell us Eric died.”

  Steve blinked, looking at the house and back at the nine-year-old boy. Tall for his age, CJ stood at close to five feet with bright blue eyes that held a blend of sorrow and wisdom, giving him a strange grown up quality that Steve had never seen in a child. He stopped a few feet from the steps trying to formulate the words. “It’s my fault,” he finally said.

  CJ tilted his head and Steve felt the thought probe. A strange tingling slid across his scalp. As disconcerting as it was, Steve allowed this boy to see inside his mind.

  CJ’s chin began to quiver. “You’re here to tell us Eric is dead,” he whispered and the tears came.

  Steve hung his head for a moment and nodded, grappling with his own sorrow for an instant before he pushed it aside. “Yes,” he said. “Are your parent’s home?”

  “They’re in back.” CJ wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He planted his feet, blocking entrance to the house. He let his eyes drift over the stranger. “You want to take my father away.”

  Steve sighed. “I promised your brother I wouldn’t.”

  “But you’re an FBI agent.”