by Anna Durand
"You can't."
"Why not?"
David had shrugged. "You're not Grace."
"But I'm strong too. Why can't I manifest like she does? Why can't you?"
"Because we are nowhere near as strong as Grace is." He'd laid a hand on Sean's shoulder then. "We can't manifest without her help. Accept it."
Naturally, Sean balked at the suggestion. The truth was irrefutable, though. David knew of no other travelers who could manifest. He'd heard rumors, but nothing concrete. As far as he knew, Grace alone possessed the ability to manifest a physical body, for herself or for others.
A thwapping reverberated down the corridor, from around a corner twenty feet ahead. David froze. The noise grew louder and louder, nearer and nearer. He backed against the wall, locking his gaze on the corner. Thwap, thwap.
Murmuring. Nearby. Getting closer. The thwapping sharpened into clomp, clomp, clomp.
Two men dressed in white lab coats traipsed into view. They paused at the intersection.
David hesitated twenty feet away. David pressed his body into the wall, a human pancake on a vertical skillet. He knew the men couldn't see him — he had no physical body — but the instinct to conceal himself tugged too hard. He'd given up trying to rationalize the urge a long time ago.
"I know what the boss wants," the older of the two men said. He ran a hand through his rim of gray hair and over his bald crown. "It's a bad idea."
"We do what he tells us," the younger man said, "no matter what we think of it. That's called doing our jobs, Yellen."
"Even JT couldn't contain her. How the hell are we supposed to?"
The younger man shook his head, tousling his shoulder-length chestnut hair. "We do whatever we have to do."
Yellen snorted. "That's easy for you to say, Evans. You won't be involved in the containment process. If she lashes out, I'll die but you'll be safe and sound in your office."
"She won't lash out. The boss will keep her under control."
Her. She. A double-edged blade of fear and realization sliced through David. They couldn't mean…
No, God, please.
"I don't like this induction program," Yellen said. The crow's feet around his eyes deepened as he tensed his features. "Don't care if Jackson Tennant himself dreamed it up, he was a lunatic after all."
"The boss isn't." Evans adjusted his black-rimmed glasses with one finger. "If he wants the girl, then we help him get her. If his methods don't work, then we use our well-tested induction procedures to bring her in. It's our job."
Yellen's shoulders deflated, accentuating his flabby physique. He scowled at his fit colleague. "I know. But she blew up our best facility. We still haven't recovered from the loss of data and materials. Besides, I don't care to be blown to smithereens, not even in the pursuit of knowledge and scientific advancement."
Evans snickered. "You really think that's why we're doing all this? Scientific advancement?"
"Why else?"
"Power, man. Power." Evans leaned closer to Yellen, as if sharing a secret. "Whoever controls these freaks and their powers has the potential to control the world. If we do what the boss wants, then he might let us share in the spoils, get it?"
Yellen harrumphed.
The younger man sighed. "We do what the boss wants. Nothing more, nothing less."
The older man studied the floor for a couple seconds. Then he raised his head and nodded. "You're right. We execute our duties, no matter what. Doesn't mean I have to like it."
"Induction works, dude."
Yellen jerked his head in a curt nod and grimaced.
Evans lifted his angular chin. "One way or another, either willingly or by force, we will bring in Grace Powell."
David jerked as if Evans had punched him in the gut. Pressure borne deep inside him pulverized his heart. This was what he'd feared for six months, the impetus for his obsession, and yet he hadn't really believed it could happen. Until now.
His insides crystallized into ice. His heart thudded in his chest, and although he knew it wasn't a real heart, the pounding ached no less than the genuine article. This must end. Today. This instant.
But first, he had to warn Grace.
Anguish tunneled straight through his heart into his soul. He collapsed to his knees, the imagined bones hitting the floor in silence. How could he have abandoned her, knowing about her vision and the telepathic intruder? What if the brain hacker obeyed Tesler's orders? This was all his fault.
So save her, jackass.
He snapped upright. Last time, she'd rescued him from a facility much like this one. But this time around, he would rescue her. He'd strap on his macho and gun down anyone who got in his way. No one would hurt Grace. No one.
Holding his position inside the facility, he stretched out his powers to connect with Grace. To contact anyone else, he'd have to retreat into the crossroads. With Grace, he required nothing more than to think of her. To fully contact her, to ascertain her whereabouts and communicate with her, he must strengthen the connection. Feed power into it. Widen the pathway.
A shock jolted through him. Everything around him spun. His mind whirled out of control. Pain, sharp and hot, gored him on a metaphysical level. His lock on the facility frayed. He struggled to link with Grace, but the shock walloped him again. His RV grip on the facility disintegrated. His mind shot upward, through the tunnel, into the crossroads. He twirled and twirled, like a top set loose on a smooth table. Lights blurred around him. He couldn't latch onto any one light, couldn't grasp any connection that might guide him out of here. Every time he flailed for a hold, his mind pitched backward as if it bounced off —
A wall.
Shit. Grace had built a psychic barrier so strong nothing could ram through it, not even him.
His mind tumbled out of the crossroads, spiraling downward. He punched back into his body. For precious seconds, he struggled to breathe, to see, to untangle the sensory input overwhelming his brain. The surroundings blurred and mingled. His head pounded, his chest ached, and his head throbbed. Cradling his head in his hands, he forced his lungs to draw in deep breaths. Grace endured headaches after using her powers. He didn't. The amount of energy demanded by traveling drained him, yes, but it triggered no pain.
Until today.
The world around him coalesced into recognizable shapes. Trees. Bushes. Grass. The stench of sweat permeated the air. A breeze chilled his chest through his damp shirt. Between his fingers, he glimpsed Sean staring at him. Eyes wide. Face pale. Lips parted. David's stress must've showed on his face. He worked to erase the pained expression. He must've succeeded, because the color returned to Sean's face, though he still gaped as if David had grown a pair of horns. Just to make sure, David palpated his head. No horns.
Sean whispered, "You looked like you were dying."
"I'm fine," David said in an equally soft voice.
He did feel better. The pounding in his head had dissipated, although an intense fatigue blanketed him. Sweat dribbled down his temples. He swiped it away with the back of his hand.
Grace's firewall blocked him, and yet, before leaving the house he'd gifted her with his emotions, in a last-ditch effort to reinforce their connection, even as he recognized the need to temper it, for her sake. She'd built her new psychic defenses before that. Their link wasn't severed, merely dampened. Maybe he could get through, if he calculated it just right and —
No time to think about it.
Grace was in danger. Tesler's minions had honed their sights in on her. They would storm the house and capture her, if they hadn't already.
His throat tightened. He clenched his hands into fists, the nails digging into his palms. Pain sparked in his flesh. To warn Grace, he'd have to resort to old-fashioned, purely physical means.
He dug out his phone. A text message wouldn't do. She might not heed his warni
ng unless she heard it from him directly. But if this facility boasted the kind of security he'd encountered at the Mojave Desert location, then the system might detect voices outside. He couldn't risk talking loud enough for Grace to hear him over the phone. But he must warn her.
Screw it. If a security squad lassoed him, so be it.
David caught Sean's attention by waving his hand. Then he risked speaking in a louder, though still hushed, voice. "Get out of here. I'll meet you at the car."
Sean shook his head.
David mouthed, "Go."
Sean glared at him for a second, but then rose into a semi-crouch and trotted back the way they'd come. His footfalls shooshed on the grass and dirt, barely audible. David prayed no one else heard Sean's movements.
He tapped the phone's touch screen, dialing a programmed number.
Sean's silhouette vanished from sight. His footsteps faded into silence. With any luck, the boy had reached a safe distance.
The call transferred to Grace's voicemail. Her cheery voice instructed him to leave a message at the tone. His gut churned. Acid soured his tongue. How soon would she retrieve her messages? Dammit. He'd assumed he could catch her and deliver the news as close to face-to-face as possible.
A long beep rattled his eardrums. He had a minute, maybe two, to convince her before the blasted voicemail cut him off.
"Grace, it's me," he said. "Please listen carefully. Tesler's men are coming for you. Do not stay at home. Do not use your cell after this. Hang up, ditch the phone, and get the hell out of there. Your psychic firewall is — "
Click. The line went dead.
A low battery warning flashed on the screen.
David jumped to his feet. He must get home. As fast as possible.
Sean stumbled out of the woods straight ahead of David. The boy scowled, his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I tried to get away."
"Away from what?" David eyed Sean through slitted eyes. The boy held his hands behind his back. He slouched forward, knees bent. "What's wrong? Are you injured?"
Two figures traipsed out of the trees behind Sean. The burly men wielded semiautomatic handguns, both trained on Sean. A third man emerged from the woods to David's left. The newcomer targeted his weapon at David. All three men wore camouflage outfits with military-style boots and two-way radios clipped to their belts.
The closest man, the one fixated on David, said, "You're coming with us."
David attempted to look confused. "We were just out for a hike. Didn't mean to cause any trouble."
The man shook his head, an unfriendly smile on his lips. "We aren't that stupid. And besides, we know who you are. David Ransom and Sean Vandenbrook. Ain't facial recognition software awesome?"
David exhaled a long sigh. What energy he had left flooded out of him. He must've talked too loudly, or for too long, on the phone with Grace. And he'd gotten Sean wrapped up in his mess.
"Take me," David said, "but let the boy go. I'm the one you want."
"Nice offer," the stranger said. "But I don't think so."
The man shoved a hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out a nylon zip tie.
David surveyed the area for an escape route. He spied more human-shaped figures in the woods, encircling them like wolves homing in on their prey. David grabbed for his gun, berthed in a shoulder holster under his jacket.
One of the men behind Sean jammed his gun into the boy's temple.
The other man, the only one who'd spoken so far, told David, "Make it easier on both of you. Don't fight."
He couldn't fight, not with so many of them versus him and Sean. In any other situation, he might've tapped into his powers to barge his way out of this mess. Since he'd emptied his energy reserves in the failed effort to contact Grace, he had nothing left to fight them with.
At least Grace knew of the danger to her. Getting captured was worth any torment that might follow, if it meant Grace would be safe.
David dropped his gun.
Tesler had won this round.
Chapter Six
Down a hallway the two of them marched, single file, with Roland Wickham leading the way. Grace stared at the back of his head, since closed doors barred her view of the rooms on either side of the hall. Though Gabriel Amador invited her to his home, clearly he did not care to expose all his secrets to her. Thoughts of what might lie beyond the doors bounced around in her brain, tickling her curiosity.
Wickham halted at a door and knocked. A voice inside bid them to enter. Wickham swung the door wide and motioned for her to go inside. She hesitated.
A thirty-minute drive down increasingly desolate roads, followed by a tooth-jarring trip up a long, two-track driveway, delivered her to this house. She'd opted to come here. Yet a quiet voice in the back of her mind warned her against it even now. Maybe it was David's voice, borne of memories.
Wickham waved his hand again.
She faced the room and swallowed. Just do it, coward.
Grasping her purse strap, she inched across the threshold.
The musky smell of leather washed over her, mixed with a lightly floral aroma. The combination peaked her senses.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Across the room, on the opposite side of a massive wooden desk, a man lounged in a leather executive chair. Gabriel Amador waved toward one of two leather chairs, smaller than his, positioned on this side of the room. Grace took a step and froze. She chewed her lip. Amador likely hacked into her mind, for pete's sake. And what, he expected her to just take a seat and strike up a conversation?
She scuffled backward a step, snaking her hand behind her back to grasp the door knob. When she twisted, the knob turned. A coil of tension slackened inside her. Not locked in, at least. She dipped her fingers into her purse just far enough to touch the cold metal of her .357 revolver. The weapon granted her a modicum of security, but only that much.
Heaven almighty, when David found out about this, he'd chain her to the sofa to keep her at home. She knew she shouldn't have come here, but she couldn't sit at home watching chick flicks while David and Sean gambled their lives on a frantic search for a boogeyman. Her psychic wall blocked out everyone except David — as far as she knew — but still, she needed to confront her boogeyman.
Amador flicked on a lamp. Sun-bright light glanced off the white walls, piercing her eyes. The remnants of her migraine throbbed behind her temples. She squinted and threw a hand up to shield her gaze.
"I won't harm you," Amador said, his voice seasoned with a light accent.
She glanced at the chair. Pursed her lips. Tapped her toe. Good or bad, crazy or sane — whatever his motivations, Gabriel Amador was a stranger to her. She thought. At times like this, amnesia really sucked. She might've met Amador last year and not remember it.
"If you mean no harm," she said, "then why did you hack into my brain and scare the holy living shit out of me?"
"I apologize for that, truly. But hacking seems an exaggerated description. A telepathic intrusion was the most expedient way to test your reaction."
Intrusion. He made it sound almost genteel.
She tilted her head, squinting at him. "Test my reaction to what?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Me. Those things that we share in common. Our special connection."
Yeah, she'd heard this spiel before. From the only other person who ever hacked her brain. A man who believed he shared a "special connection" with her. You are mine, golden girl, he'd proclaimed. JT had battered his way into her mind, thrusting those words inside. Never again would she allow an assault like that.
She fidgeted in her seat. "We don't have a connection, special or otherwise. Having the same powers doesn't make us soul mates."
Amador leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desktop. His expression faded into something inscrutable, halfway between curiosity and annoyance. He
steepled his fingers and propped his chin on them. "I am not Jackson Tennant. I have no delusions that you and I share a psychic bond, or that your blood will grant me your powers."
Jackson Tennant. The name blustered through her mind like a hurricane wind, propelling the memories of six months ago to the forefront. Acid rose in her throat. It tainted her tongue with a sour, almost metallic taste. Like blood. But the tang rose from her memories, not her stomach. Snapshots flashed in her mind, bits of memories she'd regained six months ago.
A car flipping end over end. A sickening crunch. Steam hissing. A voice wailing.
Amador lowered his hands. His eyes widened a touch. "I'm sorry. I reminded you of something terrible, didn't I? Something Tennant did to you." He stood halfway, pointing to the chair. "Please sit. You look pale."
Was that concern in his voice? She dropped her arms to her sides. And for reasons she couldn't comprehend, words tumbled out of her mouth. Maybe she needed to say them, to sweep the memories away again. "JT murdered my parents. He caused the car accident that killed them and then — " She snapped her jaw shut and sucked in a deep breath. "Can we talk about something else?"
Amador plopped onto his chair. "Of course. My apologies for dredging up bad memories. I know how painful that can be."
The tight coil inside her unwound a little more. Crap. She did not want to like him. She shouldn't like him. He'd stalked and terrified her. For the moment, though, she needed answers from him.
What had Wickham told her yesterday? Gabriel understands your predicament. He's been there before. Been where? She needed to know. Amador might have information that would help her. With Tesler's goons on her trail, she must take risks to survive. She needed to do this. She could do this. Alone.
Squaring her shoulders, she strode to the chair and settled her butt onto the cushioned seat. Perched on the edge, she plunked her purse onto her lap. Hands folded over the bag, she locked her gaze on Amador's dark-chocolate eyes.