Intuition

by Anna Durand

  The sunlight beaming in through the windows speared into her brain.

  Damn. She should've known better than to tap into her powers twice in one day. The crossroads had leveled its penalty — a migraine.

  Shutting her eyes, she rubbed them with the heels of her hands.

  Lights pulsed behind her eyelids. The room tilted and twirled.

  She stumbled down the hallway and into the bedroom. Her stomach heaved. She bolted for the bathroom. Collapsed at the toilet. Draped her arms over the bowl. Seconds ticked by as she clung to the toilet seat. The sourness of bile tainted her mouth.

  An engine rumbled outside, growing louder.

  The nausea relented. She leaned back, inhaling long breaths of cool air. The chemical scent of toilet bowl cleaner assaulted her senses. Yuck.

  The rumbling ceased.

  She kneaded the knot in her neck, but still the migraine pulsated through her skull. She slapped both hands on the sink's lip and levered he body off the floor. Light glanced off the mirror, straight into her brain. She ducked her head. To avoid the brightness, yes. But mostly to avoid glimpsing her face in the mirror. Good thing David had left. Every woman dreaded being seen with red eyes and pale lips. And don't forget the gonna-vomit-any-second look on her face.

  The doorbell buzzed.

  Terrific. A visitor.

  She splashed water on her face, pinched her cheeks for a little color, and trotted to the front door, ducking into the bedroom along the way to snag her revolver. The doorbell rang again. She peeked through the peephole. A gray-haired man stared back at her.

  Who the hell?

  With the gun in her right hand, behind her back, she swung the door open to the limit of the security chain and pasted on a generic smile. "May I help you?"

  The man met her gaze head-on, with an expression of detached interest on his clean-shaven face. "Ms. Powell, my name is Roland Wickham. I've come on behalf of Gabriel Amador."

  He spoke with an English accent, his words enunciated with precision.

  Bracing her hand on the door, she eyed the man's polo shirt and khaki pants. "I don't know any Gabriel Amador."

  "Yes, well, you may not recognize the name. But you've had contact with him." Wickham clasped his hands behind his back, rocking forward on his toes. "Quite recently. And in a rather… unusual manner."

  Grace stared at him, her jaw slackening. Her tongue probably stuck out too, but she didn't care. Unusual manner. What the blazes was this guy talking about?

  Wickham screwed his mouth into an uncomfortable expression. "Gabriel understands why you ignored his text messages, and why you're blocking his communications altogether. He asked me to call on you in the old-fashioned manner."

  "I haven't blocked any texts or phone calls."

  "Not telephone calls. You've blocked his… metaphysical contact."

  A shiver tickled her spine. He meant the brain hacking. This man's employer — or friend, or whatever — took credit for the psychic assault that robbed her of any security she'd scraped together over the last six months. Gabriel Amador hacked her mind. And now he dispatched this polite Englishman to smooth out her feathers. Did he really believe this would placate her? He must be insane.

  Amador might've taken credit for the attack, but she had no way of knowing whether he actually was the psychic intruder, or how much he knew about paranormal powers. Better play it safe.

  She locked her gaze on Wickham's green eyes. "I don't know what you mean."

  "I believe you do." He inched toward her, stopping near enough that she tensed, but far enough away that she could bang the door shut in his face, if necessary. In a flat whisper, he said, "Gabriel understands your predicament. He's been there before. Give him a chance to explain, and I'm certain you will realize why he intruded on your privacy."

  Grace dropped her hand to the door knob. Intruded on her privacy? Was he joking? The psychic assault had torn through her innate defenses, exposing her innermost self. No permission. No warning. Wham! And her world imploded.

  She adjusted her grip on the revolver behind her back. "Why didn't your pal pay me a visit himself?"

  "He believed an intermediary would prove more helpful in easing your concerns. It's his way."

  "Sure, sending his lackey really fosters trust."

  With a curt nod, Wickham stepped back. "You have an open invitation to visit Gabriel's home, at the address he provided to you. I assure you he wants to help."

  She rolled her shoulders back, lifting her chin. "Tell Mr. Amador he can take a flying leap off a very tall cliff. And I hope he lands face-first in a pile of cactus on top of a fire ant mound."

  "I'm sure that will amuse him."

  She grunted. "I'm thrilled."

  Wickham extended a hand. She shoved her free hand in her pants pocket.

  "If you change your mind," Wickham said, withdrawing his hand, "our door is always open."

  He rotated on his heels and marched down the concrete path to the driveway. She poked her head out to watch the man as he tromped to the silver Jeep Cherokee parked in the driveway. She waited until the vehicle disappeared down the street, and then she shut the door. Click. The lock engaged. She clutched the gun to her stomach, its cold weight a mild comfort. Locks and deadbolts, even the revolver, couldn't protect her from telepathic spies.

  Amador resorted to sending his minion to deliver his message. If he was the psychic intruder, then her mental firewall worked. Nobody could break in.

  Thank you, David.

  Her pulse quickened. Had David arrived in Montana yet? Their link assured her he was alive, and unharmed. For the moment. She itched to tap into her powers and remote view him, to see for herself nothing happened to him. The impulse throbbed inside her. Do it. You'll feel better. No, she must not invade David's privacy the way Amador crashed through hers. When David uncovered another lead, or stumbled onto Tesler's facility, he'd call her. Patience.

  Crap. She'd never been good at that.

  If she tracked down Tesler, then David would come home. But how might she locate the scientist? She sometimes employed her remote viewing — sort of a combination between astral projection and GPS-like tracking — to check on David, but she couldn't use it on anyone else. Without an intimate connection to the other party, her psychic GPS failed. No one she knew or had read about possessed the ability to locate another person simply by thinking about them.

  There must be another way. She'd find it, dammit.

  Back at her desk, she struggled to concentrate on work. Her latest client, who'd promised his self-help book would be "easy-peasy" to design, waylaid her yesterday by insisting on adding complicated tables and charts. Green tea and chocolate sustained her for fifteen minutes or so, but then she flagged, cradling her forehead in both hands, elbows on the desktop.

  The doorbell buzzed.

  She heaved her body off the chair and trundled to the door, pulling it open to the extent of the security chain.

  A gray-haired man smiled at her, his hazel eyes sparkling a slightly darker hue than hers.

  Grinning, she unhooked the chain and swung the door wide. Edward McLean spread his arms in invitation, and she flew into her grandfather's embrace. He smelled of Old Spice and black coffee. His hand patted her hair, and the tension cramping her muscles, her heart, eased a bit. She ushered him into the living room and parked her butt on the sofa, slouching into the cushions. He sat in the recliner. David's chair.

  She tore her attention from the chair's chocolate-brown fabric, evading the memories it invoked, and focused on her grandfather's face. "David called you."

  "From the airport, yes. He's concerned. We both are."

  "I'm fine." She folded her arms over her chest. "I don't need a babysitter."

  He propped one ankle atop the other knee and clasped his hands over his belly. "You had a premonition."


  "It's nothing, I'm okay."

  With a sharp shake of his head, he frowned at her. "Grace, you have to stop downplaying these things. You had a terrifying experience, believed David was dead for hours, and you never called me."

  She grunted. "Wake you up at an ungodly hour to tell you… what? I had a panic attack after a bad dream?"

  "It was no dream, we all know that. And you do not panic. Not without extreme provocation."

  The air rushed out of her in a loud sigh, and she flopped her head back against the sofa. "I have to do something. David will get himself killed if I don't — " She thumped her fists on her thighs. "Gah! I can't just sit here pretending life goes on as normal. Nothing about my life is normal."

  Edward rose and shuffled to her, perching on the coffee table. His hands wrapped her fists. She flinched at the sudden warmth, unaware of how cold her hands were.

  His eyebrows wrinkled, lifting into a V over his nose. "David told me about your visitor."

  Her head snapped up. "What?"

  David couldn't know about Wickham's visit. Could he?

  "Yes," her grandfather said. "The mental assault must've been disturbing, more than you're willing to let on."

  Ohhh, that visitor.

  She shrugged. "It won't happen again." She wrested a hand free of his and tapped her temple with one finger. "Like a fortress."

  "I heard. But the text messages — "

  "Were creepy, yeah." She sat forward, laying her hand over his. "Frankly, there's not a damn thing you can do to protect me from telepathic stalkers. So please, trust me to handle this my way."

  "Grace, I know you're strong and capable. David and I are simply trying to — "

  "Protect me. I got the message." She stood and stomped to the window that overlooked the front yard and driveway. "I appreciate the sentiment, and I love you both for it, but honestly, I can take care of myself."

  "You asked me to trust you." He came up beside her, hands in his pants pockets, eyeing her sideways. "But you won't trust us — me and David. Why?"

  She leaned against the window frame and scrutinized a tiny crack in the glass. "I'm sorry. Please believe me, I'm trying, but I got used to handling things myself when I had amnesia and you guys were in California."

  He bowed his head, shoulders sagging. "We shouldn't have left you alone in Texas. Keeping you in the dark was my idea, not David's. If you need someone to blame, it's me, Grace." Despair crept into his voice when he said, "I failed Christine. I can't bear to fail you too, Grace."

  She threw her arms around him. In a tone as fierce as her hug, she told him, "Mom wouldn't blame you. I don't blame you. Please don't worry about me." She pulled away, blinking back stray tears, and straightened. "I'll be okay."

  Whether he believed her or not, she couldn't say, but his mood brightened a bit, and by the time he departed, she thought he was moderately convinced she wouldn't die today. The best either of them could hope for these days. As she watched his car roll down the street, she shut and locked the front door.

  Two visitors in one day. She preferred the second one. Roland Wickham had been polite but unforthcoming.

  A thought bubbled to the surface of her brain. Gabriel Amador contacted her at the exact time when Sean and David caught another lead on Tesler and his new undertaking. Coincidence? Reason said yes, but the gnawing in her gut warned her no. Once again, outside forces conspired to corner her. In this go-round, she refused to twiddle her thumbs and wait for David to guide her. If he chose to run off in search of his demons, then she would grab hold of the reins in her own life. David might find answers, or this "mission" might derail like all the others.

  They needed outside support. She needed support.

  Wickham told her Amador wanted to help. Could she trust either man?

  Hell no.

  Her vision replayed in her mind. David on his knees. Tesler wielding a knife. Blood. Agony.

  No, no, no. She must do everything in her power to prevent the premonition from coming true. But how? She lacked the one tool she needed. Information.

  It granted power, right? Well then, she better steal some. Or wheedle it out of Amador.

  A cold fist clenched around her heart. Bad idea, this is a very bad idea. She'd exhausted her options over the last six months. Maybe her vision wouldn't happen, but she refused to wait and see. Time to risk a new tactic.

  Amador schemed to use her, though for what, she had no clue. Why not use him right back?

  David would kill her for this. And for a psychic, that meant he didn't even have to come home to do it.

  You've got to end this, once and for all.

  Time to investigate on her own.

  Chapter Five

  A chill wind sizzled through the treetops as David crouched behind a jack pine for shelter. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. Despite his clothing — olive green camouflage — he preferred to hide behind the tree while scouting the location. He must enact every precaution, not just for himself, but for Grace too.

  He never should've left her.

  Stop thinking about it. You're here now, focus on that.

  He exercised caution for someone else besides Grace. He did it for Sean.

  The teenage boy crouched behind another tree, an arm's length from David. At seventeen, Sean fancied himself a man, yet David had trouble thinking of him as anything other than the cowering boy he met while interned at the facility in California's remote Mojave Desert. Tesler and his cronies at ALI had exulted in tormenting anyone with paranormal powers, whatever their age. The memory of his first encounter with Sean replayed in his mind — the boy curled up in the fetal position on his bed, a blanket lumped on top of him, cocooning him from head to toe. That had been less than a year ago.

  Today, Sean crouched behind a tree dressed in camouflage, his red hair shaved into a buzz cut and his expression stern, the portrait of a commando wannabe. Sean might've shed his outward fear, but David sensed it lurking underneath, like a pond cloaked in ice.

  The wind gusted, shaking the trees.

  Panic flashed across Sean's face, blanching his fair skin. His freckles stood out against the pallor, like stars in reverse. Sean locked his green eyes on David for a second. Then the boy shrugged, twisted his mouth into an annoyed expression, and swung his gaze back to the object of their investigation.

  David leaned sideways to peer around the tree. There, about a hundred feet away inside a clearing, hunkered a metal shed about ten feet square and eight feet tall. High above, a satellite dish clung to the trunk of a towering tree, mounted near the top. Nothing else hinted at the presence of anything more sinister than squirrels. Still, he and Sean needed to keep an eye out for the wildlife, as well as security personnel. If this was the new facility, then it would have security, of the covert kind.

  David glanced at Sean. The boy pointed at his eyes with two fingers and then shut his lids. It was a signal they had developed. It meant one of them should remote view the location in question. Sean opened his eyes and pointed one finger at his chest.

  David shook his head. He indicated his own chest.

  Sean slumped his shoulders and rolled his eyes, his way of saying I'm not a baby anymore, you overprotective dork.

  David supposed teenagers didn't say dork anymore. Whatever the derogatory phrase associated with it, the expression conveyed petulance. Sean wanted to take a more active role in their investigations, but David clung to his overprotective instinct. Besides, he was better at RV'ing than Sean was.

  And the boy knew it. That was part of the sentiment behind the eye rolling.

  Closing his eyes, David let his mind go blank. He soared up into the crossroads, hunting for the path that would lead him into the facility — if the metal shed concealed a facility. A star in the crossroads pulsed, and he latched on, letting it pull him ever downward, spiraling throug
h a dark tunnel.

  He hurtled out into the real world.

  Light blinded him. He winced and flung up a hand to shield his eyes. Though no one else could see him, and he had no physical body when remote viewing, he always envisioned himself in a physical form. So far as he knew, all travelers experienced it this way. The human mind, even when disconnected from its body, fought to make sense of its surroundings in a familiar way. That was his theory, at least.

  He stood in a corridor. The white glare swallowed its details. With each second that ticked past, his vision acclimated to the light. After a moment that felt like forever, but must've eaten up no more than thirty seconds, he discerned more of his surroundings.

  The brilliant glow emanated from bulbs recessed into the ceiling. He shuffled down the corridor, past closed doors set into the walls at regular intervals. White paint coated everything except the floor. Even the door knobs were white. His phantom shoes traveled over the pale gray linoleum in silence. He spotted no markings on the first two doors. As he strode deeper into the facility, he watched for signs of life, or at least an actual sign to clue him in on what function this place served.

  The doors did bear markings, he realized, though none that made sense to him. Alongside each door, at waist level, raised figures — dots, lines, and squares — designated each door with a unique code. It looked like Morse code, or a strange kind of Braille. He reached out to finger the markings, but of course, with no physical body he couldn't touch them. His fingers met emptiness.

  The ventilation system hissed overhead. He crept down the hall, glancing at each doorway he passed, spotting nothing that might alert him to this building's purpose. Another facility? Another hellhole where Tesler tortured psychics? He clenched his jaw. His teeth ground against each other. He must thwart the scientist, whatever the cost. Tesler must never get his claws into Grace or Sean or anyone else.

  David rubbed his forehead, his mouth going dry. He'd essentially left Sean alone outside this building. The boy longed to expand his powers. Would he attempt more advanced feats of psychic ability while David was distracted in here? He hoped he'd taught Sean better than that, but the boy's impulse to grab more power was strong. A couple weeks ago, he told David, "I want to manifest. That would be so cool."