by Anna Durand
A lump hardened in her throat. She ducked her head to stare at her hands. A murderer. That's what she was, though Amador had no way of knowing it.
Withdrawing his hand from his pocket, Amador dropped to one knee in front of her. His gaze landed on her with a palpable weight that commanded her attention, and a shiver swept through her, prickling the hairs at the nape of her neck. She did not flinch, or avert her eyes from his.
"I killed a man today," she said, her voice flat. "Six months ago, I shot and killed both Jackson Tennant and Xavier Waldron. This evening, I killed at least one other man, maybe more. So you see, I am a killer."
Amador's brows knit together. "I saw a dead man in the forest, when I came for you. He had a gun and was likely the one who shot you." He shook his head. "You defended your life against men who would have done grievous injury to you."
"I know." She leaned back, though she didn't break eye contact. "I said I'm a killer, not a murderer. You shouldn't be so cocksure I won't shoot you if I feel the tiniest bit threatened."
"Of that I have no doubt, but I mean you no harm." Amador lowered his left hand leisurely onto hers. His flesh scalded her skin. She hadn't realized how cold her hands were. He slipped his right hand into his pants pocket, hesitating there, and then pulled it out to rest it on top of her free hand. Almost in slow motion, he coiled his fingers around hers. All the while, his eyes tracked hers, and she discovered she couldn't divert her attention. Those dark eyes trapped her. When he began to trace circles on her palms with his fingertips, the touch triggered a warm tingling in her hands that spread, inch by inch, up her arms and into the rest of her body.
He raised one hand to brush his knuckles across her cheek. "You are no killer, Grace. Tennant and Waldron deserved to die, and they left you no choice but take their lives in self-defense. I saw it through postcognition, remember? I know."
"Right. I forgot." She should've shaken his hands off, but her muscles had liquefied. Her voice came out dreamy too. What was wrong with her? "I appreciate the reassurance, but it's not necessary, Mr. Amador."
"Biel."
"Huh?"
"Please call me Biel." His fingers kept sketching circles on her palm. With his other hand, he cupped her cheek. "I am on your side, Grace. I would never abandon you."
Like David had. Although Amador refrained from saying the words, she knew what he meant.
Amador stroked her cheek with his fingertips. "If you will allow me, I would take care of you."
His caress made the tension in her unwind and scattered her thoughts. Was this man manipulating her psychically? This morning, she would've thought it impossible. Tonight, she'd lost her unerring faith in her firewall.
It should've been David comforting her. If he sensed her anguish, he would've come to check on her. The fact he hadn't pointed to one of three things — he couldn't feel her anymore, he was unable to come to her, or he didn't want to come to her. He ordered her to go away, and proclaimed she got in his way. The memory of his words, and the hardness in his voice, conjured a pain in her chest that made her wince and suck in a shallow breath. Her heart had calcified, cold and brittle and no longer capable of beating.
David had been terrified, though of what, she couldn't figure out. His callous actions, his harsh words, they stemmed from his fear. If only he'd talk to her.
Unlike David, Amador had no trouble expressing his feelings. He also hadn't dismissed her with all the tenderness of a cat throwing up a hairball.
Gabriel Amador was attractive. And attentive. And he rescued her when she needed it.
He ran his fingers down her cheek.
She cringed inside. However attractive and attentive he was, Amador harbored a secret agenda.
And she loved David. No one else tempted her.
She tensed her hands, preparing to yank them free of his.
Amador released her hands and rose. Towering over her, he combed his fingers through her hair. "Even if you cannot or will not trust me, I will help you in any way I can. That is my vow to you."
She nodded. "I appreciate that."
He turned and headed for the doorway.
"Thank you again," she said. It galled her to need his help, but she did. So she opted for a strategic concession. "I'm very grateful to you… Biel."
He froze mid step, and for a couple seconds he neither moved nor spoke. Then he twisted around to face her, and flashed the first genuine smile she'd witnessed on his lips. "No, Grace, thank you. Together, we can accomplish incredible things."
"I'm sure you're right."
"Come, you must be hungry." He gestured toward the door. "I will have Wickham prepare something for you."
He waited for her to stand and then headed out the door. She trailed after him, walking slower than usual. At least she wasn't limping. Amador bounded down the hallway with a light step. He maintained a discreet, but distinct, gap between them. The prisoner led to the execution.
No. He would not harm her.
Yet.
"How long was I asleep?" she asked.
"All night."
A modicum of relief filtered through her. When she peeked out the French doors at Wickham, she caught sight of the morning sun halfway over the horizon and worried she'd slept for days. Overnight was bad, but better than days. She couldn't afford any lost time, not with David held captive and Tesler on her trail.
Amador veered right, into a dining room.
When he pulled out a chair for her, she eased into it. The table gleamed in the ever-brightening daylight filtering through the windows. She rested her hands on the wood. Cool. Slick. Dark.
Smiling, Amador seated himself opposite her. He folded his hands on the tabletop, interlocking his fingers. "I am so pleased to have you here, Grace."
Unease trickled through her. Befriending Amador might prove her best chance of survival, yet it burned her soul like a betrayal.
David.
Circumstances winnowed her choices down to bad and worse.
Amador snaked a hand across the table, slipping it over hers. Warmth tingled through her hand and wrist. It seeped up her arm, throughout her body, and into every crevice of her soul. The urge to yank her hand away flared white-hot inside her. What the hell was happening to her? The wrongness of it screamed in her head, frantic yet indistinct, like a voice from another room. If he was doing something to her, influencing her psychically…
But how could he? Her psychic wall blocked everything. Even David.
She couldn't be sure of that.
Gotta play along. Find out what this creep knows. She resisted gritting her teeth, exhaled slowly relax her muscles, and aimed a tentative smile at him.
And then, the heat swallowed her whole.
"I'll get that breakfast for you," Amador said.
"Huh?" His words vibrated her eardrums, but their meaning failed to register. Quicksand sucked at her thoughts, hauling her downward into oblivion.
Amador patted her hand and ambled out of the room.
Her heart thudded. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Conscious but numb, immobilized and breathless, she wrestled for control of her own mind.
And realized she'd already lost.
The guard pitched David into the cell. His body hit the floor with a dull thud, his chin smacking into the concrete. Pangs radiated through his jaw. The pain failed to register as more than a background ache, driven aside by the fire searing his veins. The fire ignited by the drugs.
David struggled to push up into a sitting position. His arms collapsed under him. He whumped back onto the floor and groaned. What the hell had Tesler injected into him? Not JT's formula, for sure. Every cell in his body burned and throbbed. His muscles sagged like wet rags clinging to his bones. And Christ, how his bones ached.
The stench of sweat and blood permeated his clothes, his hair, his skin. He rolled o
nto his side. His head spun, fast as a tornado. His gorge rose in his throat, but he gulped it back. No vomiting. No passing out. Signs of weakness would please Tesler, and embolden him to switch to phase two. David knew all too well how Tesler's methods progressed. First, drugs. Second…
Physical pain.
He clenched his jaw until the whirling subsided. His head rested on the floor. His shoulder, slumped beneath him, forced his head to lie at an angle. Discomfort tugged at his neck muscles. He raised his head, grimacing from the effort, and surveyed the damage.
Sweat soaked the fabric under his arms. Dots of blood spattered his T-shirt. Whose blood? He palpated his scalp, neck, arms. No injuries. He lifted the collar of his shirt to peek inside it at his chest. No wounds there either. He inhaled, and the metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils. With one finger, he explored his nose. Dried blood caked around his nostrils. What kind of drug caused bleeding from the nose?
Maybe it hadn't been the drugs. He'd fought damn hard to break through the electromagnetic barrier blocking him from contacting Grace. His mind bounced off it with enough force to wrench his physical body. The power of the EM blockade might've overtaxed his brain, triggering a nose bleed. He'd seen similar things happen to other psychics. Never before had he experienced this kind of side effect.
If anyone could breach the barrier, it would be Grace.
Her face hovered before his mind's eye. Her auburn hair glowing in the sunlight. Her hazel eyes sparkling. A glorious smile enlivening her features. If Tesler got his hands on her, the tactics he'd used on David, Sean, and Nkosi would pale compared to his plans for Grace. Tesler's voice reverberated in David's head.
Do you know what the greatest prize of all is?
The pretty pink brain of your darling girl.
David ground his teeth. The grating noise echoed in the tiny cell and vibrated through his skull. Tension rippled through him, tightening muscles that screamed in protest. He choked back a gasp. Please stay away, Grace.
Trouble was, he knew her better than that. She would come for him. She would risk her own life to rescue him. Her stubborn determination, her willingness to endanger herself for others, those were two of the countless reasons he loved her.
But dammit, he should've been the one rescuing her. What kind of man couldn't manage to safeguard his most precious treasure, the woman he loved? Somewhere between his imprisonment at the Mojave Desert facility and his obsession with hunting down Tesler, he'd lost sight of what mattered most.
Grace.
Was it too late to rectify his mistakes? Could she ever forgive him? Only one way to find out. He must escape from this place. He must free Nkosi, Sean, and any other hostages. And then he must track down Grace before she barreled into this facility to find him. He must save her this time — from her own reckless, if well-intentioned, actions.
God, he loved her. More than anything in this world or the next. If he must make the ultimate sacrifice for her, he'd do it without hesitation. He would die for her.
The door burst inward, banging into the wall.
David thrust himself up off the floor. Seated there, he glowered at the man standing in the doorway.
"Nap time is over," Tesler said. "Time to play twenty thousand questions. I believe you remember the consequences for refusing to answer."
"Torture me all you want. I won't tell you a damn thing."
Tesler sniggered. "You don't have to." He hopped closer, bending over to meet David's gaze. "I'd venture to guess that Sean knows everything you do, or close enough to everything. I'll torture you until he cracks."
The scientist flicked his wrist. Two guards tromped into the room, seized David's arms, and dragged him out of the cell. As they rounded a corner, heading down a different corridor than before, David racked his brain to formulate a plan. No way to RV the facility to plot out an escape route. He'd have to rely on his mundane senses, and his intellect. His limbs refused to acknowledge his commands, instead hanging limp.
Half dragging, half carrying him, the guards tossed David through an open doorway into a room much like the previous one where Tesler administered the drugs. But this room contained three chairs. Sean and Nkosi sat strapped into two of the chairs. The middle one stood empty. Waiting. For David.
Two men in white lab coats hauled David into the chair. Yellen and Evans, the men he'd watched when he RV'd the facility, secured the straps around his wrists, ankles, and forehead. Evans buckled the chest restraint.
A long table nestled against one wall held devices of torture. Scalpels. Things with serrated edges and sharp pincers. A wooden paddle with holes in it. A baseball bat.
Yellen scuffled toward the doorway. "Must I watch this, Dr. Tesler?"
"If you can't stomach it, then wait in the corridor."
Yellen rushed outside. Tesler strolled into the room. He picked up the bat, thumping it on his palm.
Sean whimpered. David glanced at him sideways. Tears streamed from the boy's puffy, red eyes. His face was pale and gaunt. On the other side of David, Nkosi sat with chin lifted, jaw set, eyes clear and fixed on Tesler. A gash cut a red line across his cheek, and a clump of bruises purpled his neck.
David glared at Tesler, willing the man to burst into flames. Even if his psychic faculties had been at peak levels, he'd never possessed the power of pyrokinesis. Too bad. The bastard deserved to burn, if not in hell, then here on earth.
Tesler raised the bat. His eyes focused on David, but he spoke to Sean. "Tell me, son, where is Grace Powell?"
Sean sniffled. His voice emerged as a trembling whisper. "No."
"Then you leave me no choice."
Tesler swung the bat at David.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace wolfed down the last bite of her breakfast. Omelet, toast, and sausages, with orange juice on the side. No point in starving herself. She'd need all the strength she could muster to accomplish her goals, which included getting the hell out of this house ASAP. That moment of possibility wouldn't arrive until she milked Amador for everything she could — information, tricks of the ESP trade, and anything else she could think of.
When Wickham had brought the food, she suffered a bout of panic. What if her breakfast was poisoned? Or drugged? But then she flashed back to her reaction when Amador touched her, and she knew. He required no drugs or poison to control her. Regardless of whether she'd finally toppled over to the dark side, her mental state provided him with all the leverage he needed, without chemical assistance.
Unless he'd drugged her while she was unconscious.
She had no clue what was going on anymore. With herself. With David. With any of this. She no longer enjoyed the luxury of choosing her allies. Amador had selected her, and Tesler's men drove her into Amador's corner.
Her hunger sated, she leaned back and endeavored to seem relaxed, despite the tension crackling inside her. Amador lounged in a chair on the opposite side of the wooden table. He had also eaten, though food remnants littered his plate. Her plate was empty. Eggs never tasted so good before.
Amador pushed his chair back and stood. "Please excuse me. I must attend to some business. It won't take long, though, and I believe we should talk afterward."
"Okay." Whatever. She had no plans to flee yet, since she had nowhere to go.
"Wait here for me." He ambled out of the room.
The door lock engaged with a click.
Guest or prisoner? Question answered.
Well, at least he hadn't laid his hands on her again. Yet.
A shiver skittered down her spine. Amador's skin on hers had infected her with an eerie warmth and a disturbing slackness. The first time she met Amador, he kissed her hand — and she felt nothing. This morning, similar contact knocked her off balance, and nearly thrust her into a tailspin. Worst of all, the one person she could've talked this out with was incommunicado.
She missed David, so badly.
Was he still alive? Their connection buzzed between them, albeit with far less strength than usual. She tugged on the link. Nothing. No reciprocal pull from his end.
Leaning her head back against the chair, she closed her eyes and tugged harder. Zippo. No tautening of the link. No glowy warmth from their constant, low-grade connection. No sense of his well-being, good or bad. Their bond persisted, but David seemed unable or unwilling to tap into it. Even if he stopped caring about her, which she'd believe on the day the sky turned pink, he would permit their link to pulse back to her a signal of his status. Injured, safe. Alive, dead.
The connection fed her zilch. This was bad. Very bad.
A chill sparked in her gut, blossoming outward into her entire body. The hairs on her arms and neck stiffened. Goose bumps prickled her skin. A bitter taste oozed over her tongue, the sourness of bile rising in her throat. A tugging, wrenching pressure tore through her gut. Not physical pain. It originated from her soul.
David, what have we done to each other?
She needed to ascertain why they'd lost contact. She thought of one reason, but pushed it away, unwilling to let it linger in her mind. It couldn't be. He wasn't —
No. His death would've wrenched her inside out. He was alive, somewhere.
Her hands clenched the chair's arms. She worked on releasing the tension in her body and mind with slow, deep breaths. It took far longer than she would've liked, but at last, numbness drove out the world around her. She barreled into the crossroads and scanned the stars around her. Not a single star reacted to her presence.
An icy chill, transmitted her body, mutated into a subzero shiver.
He wasn't dead. She refused to believe it. Until she witnessed his body, lifeless and bloody, she would never believe it.
Come on, David, show me the way.
An echo of power rippled through the crossroads to caress her mind. She latched onto the intimate feel of the familiar energy, scaling up it inch by inch.
A force hurled her away.
She plummeted back into her body. Unable to slow the descent, she hit so hard her body convulsed. Her jaw clamped tight, and pains shot through her head.