“I hate this.”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand, offering what comfort he could.
“But why am I being chased now, after all these years?” she asked for what had to be the thousandth time.
“We’ll find out.”
Maybe the answer was in the files currently resting inside her. Maybe they were in the phone Sean had just confiscated. Or maybe she was wrong and answers were nowhere. Didn’t matter. Determination filled her. Whatever she had to do, whatever she had to endure, she would break the encryption and find out.
The waitress arrived and each of them ordered coffee. Gabby doubted anyone would actually drink it, though. They were too on edge.
“Listen,” Rowan said when they were once again alone. “A new boss has already been appointed to Rose Briar, and it wasn’t me or you.”
Sean frowned. “It damn well should have been you. You’ve been there the longest, and you’re the best agent. Well, besides me, but right now, the powers that be can’t be too happy with me. So . . . Who?”
“Bentley.”
Gabby’s jaw dropped. “Bentley is an agent, too?”
Sean gave a stiff nod. “She has an affinity for engines and things like that.”
Gabby thought back to the night, not so long ago, when her car had refused to start. Bentley had soon exited the club and taken a look under the hood. I’m not sure what’s wrong, the girl had said. Why don’t you ride with me? Bentley had been so nice during that ride, trying so hard to draw Gabby out so they could share about their lives.
All for the job, she realized, teeth grinding together. Would no one seek her out, want to know about her, without some kind of ulterior motive? After all, she wouldn’t have even met Sean had she not possessed her ability.
She found that she didn’t regret that, though.
“Bentley wants Gabby brought in,” Rowan continued. “But I, of course, have no idea where she is.”
She experienced a jolt of surprise. Rowan was actually helping her. Maybe Sean could trust this man. Maybe that trust was warranted rather than foolish.
“Got anything else for me?” Sean asked, as if he’d had no doubts of his friend’s loyalty.
“I wish.”
“Too bad. Keep them busy,” Sean said, and stood.
“Wait. We’re leaving so soon?” Gabby quickly stood as well, unable to stop her gaze from scanning the restaurant. Was everyone staring at her? “Why?”
“We have to stay on the move. If we learn anything new,” he said to Rowan, “we’ll call.”
Rowan nodded. “I’ll do what I can from my end.”
The waitress arrived with the coffees and frowned when she realized two of the occupants were leaving.
“He’s paying,” Sean said, motioning to Rowan.
“Thanks a lot,” the agent muttered, but he was grinning.
Gabby and Sean left the coffee shop the same way they’d entered, hand in hand. This time, hers was shaking and sweating. What, she wondered, were they going to do now?
CHAPTER TEN
Sean took Gabby to his house. A house that Rose Briar didn’t know about. He knew his other residence was under surveillance. After all, he was currently missing and harboring a target.
He wanted Gabby safe, but she wouldn’t be safe as long as someone was chasing her and had access to her every move. Someone Sean hadn’t yet pegged. Only thing he could think to do was draw the bastard out, on Sean’s turf, where the doors were wired to alarms and he could battle an army—and win—on his own.
“Are you going to get in trouble?” Gabby asked. “I mean, you’re supposed to turn me in.”
He shrugged. Yeah, he’d probably get shit for this, but in the end they would thank him. He doubted the higher-ups wanted Rose Briar’s location broadcast to every scientist or criminal with a hard-on for PSAs. People with Supernatural Abilities.
She spun in a circle, eyeing everything, most likely missing nothing. “You live here?”
“When I have to.” It was his safe space, his harbor away from the world.
He looked around, trying to see the place as she was seeing it. The walls, windows, and concrete floor were painted black, better to encourage darkness. There was no furniture, but there were wooden planks nailed strategically across the ground. While Sean knew where those planks were by heart and could navigate the room with his eyes closed, anyone sneaking inside would trip constantly, their vision compromised by the gloom.
“There’s a bed in the far bedroom,” Sean said, handing her the phone Rowan had given him. “Why don’t you go lie down? Maybe download what you can from this. See if you learn anything. If it pains you, stop. Got me?”
Other than clasping the phone to her chest, she didn’t move. “And what will you be doing?”
“Arming up.” He knelt down, withdrawing a knife from his back pocket.
Gabby watched as he inserted the sharp tip of that blade into a crack in the floor. White teeth bit into his lower lip as he pried and worked that crack until an entire block of concrete popped up.
Underneath was an arsenal. Guns, knives, grenades, and all kinds of equipment she couldn’t identify.
“Paranoid much?”
He chuckled, and oh, it was a sexy sound. “I’ve learned to be prepared for anything.”
She ran her thumb over the buttons on the phone until a light popped on. “Well, I want a gun.”
“You know how to shoot? Last time I handed you one, you couldn’t stop shaking.”
“I wasn’t scared of the gun, moron; I was scared of the man trying to kill me. But yeah. I taught myself to shoot when I was eighteen. A birthday present, you could say.”
“Okay, then. Take what you want. And speaking of guns, I want you to wear this,” he added, arm dipping into the hole and withdrawing a Kevlar vest. He tossed it at her.
The material slapped against her stomach as the phone beeped, signaling it was now turned on and ready to use. Her mind instantly opened up and linked.
There were a few e-mails that hadn’t yet been read, others that had, but nothing that pertained to her—until a photograph flashed. It was of her—Gabby—as a little girl, head shaved, a white shirt and pants bagging on her tiny body, a thin, thirtysomething man behind her.
He had a serious, no-nonsense expression. Hers was dead. No fear, no resolve. As if she’d known the worst had already been done to her and nothing else would compare.
“Huit. French for eight,” was written across the photo.
Next was a current photo of her—her mug shot, actually—from the same sender. “Your Huit” was written across this one.
There was a file accompanying it, and this one wasn’t encrypted. Maybe because the sender, Sweetie-McLovin, hadn’t written anything truly incriminating. It read: “Took me a while, and I doubt anyone else will have any luck ’cause damn, I’m good, but I finally deciphered it. Bastard liked his numbers. I’ll send each separately. This has to be your girl. Dude fucked her up good, that’s for sure. She knew shit that was in a computer she’d never touched.”
There were more photos, each numbered in French. Of her, of the other children the bastard doctor had stolen off the streets. Five girls, five boys. There were even pictures of three that Rose Briar had found. They were inside a laboratory, clearly dead, blood leaking from their eyes, ears, and noses. She gagged. Was that the fate that awaited her? Number eight?
Wait. Huit. Her name. French. A number, like the others. Of course, she thought, eyes widening as the new files in her head began buzzing. The doctor had liked numbers, had wanted everything in its place. Sean’s boss wouldn’t have reworked the doctor’s system when he’d confiscated the doctor’s documents because he would have been too afraid to mess anything up. Which meant the former Rose Briar boss would have left everything as it was.
Numbers . . . numbers . . . her brain worked at the files once more, replacing numbers with letters, each using a point-by-point scale. There was no pain this time, and sh
e wanted to laugh. She’d gotten it right!
Rather than open them one at a time—the cipher was as long as the encryption itself, the longest she’d ever seen, and she knew reading even a single file would have taken hours—Gabby simply decoded the file names. Anything that didn’t seem to pertain to her or the others like her she pushed aside. Didn’t trash, not yet, but moved out of the way.
And God, there were a lot of files. Some dating back thirty years.
“Gabby.”
The deep voice called to her, demanding her attention. She blinked, trying to reach out, clasp onto that voice with a mental hand, and drag herself to it. But then a file moved front and center, as if the voice had been a key, a trigger, and opened up.
There were photos of Sean, younger than when she’d met him. Late teens or early twenties. Same eye color, but those irises were almost dead. No emotion in them, much as there’d been no emotion in hers.
Next to the photos, page after page of notes appeared. “Subject has suffered abuse. Beaten by father. Possesses a temper of his own. Perhaps uncontrollable. Recently in bar fight. Witnesses claimed he disappeared in the shadows before beating opponent senseless and—”
“Gabby!”
Her entire body shook; there were iron-hot brands on her upper arms, and they were responsible, she realized, but didn’t care.
She read another page of notes. A psych report. “Sean keeps himself emotionally distant. He believes the darkness inside him deprives those around him of light. He believes their minds cannot cope with this. His father warned him of this, and therefore he expects it to happen, perhaps even creating signs of it. Signs of his own making.”
Yes, he’d told her that before. Told her the darkness often drove people insane.
“Gabby, sweetheart, it’s Sean.” Another shake, this one harder. “Can you hear me?”
Sean. Sean was holding her. Once again she blinked and this time the world slowly came into focus. He was indeed in front of her, tall and strong and beautiful, those electric blues bright with concern. His lips were pulled down in a tight frown.
Before she realized what she was doing, she lifted her hand and traced her finger over those lips. Soft . . . naughty . . . How much had he suffered as a child? How many people had he pushed out of his life because he’d feared hurting them?
He nipped at her fingertip, creating a delicious sting. A sting he then licked away. “Where’d you go, baby?”
“Files,” she managed to croak past the sudden lump in her throat. “Was able to open a few. Who’s Sweetie McLovin?”
“He’s a smart-ass kid who works for Rose Briar. He’s wicked smart with computers.”
“Well, he knows about me and the others. If anyone finds out about him, he’s dead.”
Sean released her, flipped open his phone, and called Rowan. The conversation was short: “Sweetie needs a pickup. He’s a possible target.” Then the phone was back in Sean’s pocket and he was holding her again. “Anything else?”
“I’m still sifting through the information. Found some things about . . . you,” she admitted softly, fully expecting him to erupt. To hate her, now that she knew some of his secrets.
“Like?” he asked, utterly calm.
The calm before the storm? “You were different. Before joining the agency, I mean. Your father . . .” Shut up, shut up, shut up. You’re just digging the hole deeper. She didn’t want Sean to hate her for her ability. Wasn’t sure how she’d react if he pushed her away.
“Yeah. He was a bastard. But he wanted me strong, able to withstand anything that was thrown at me.” He grinned, and there was no edge to it. “Not sure Rose Briar would like you having access to so much information. Yeah, they want to use you, but this . . . I don’t think they fully realize the extent of what you can learn.”
Gabby flattened her palms against his chest, and she told herself she did it to hold herself up. Her legs were weak and shaky, after all, but deep down she knew the truth. She craved contact with this man, any type of contact. His heartbeat was fast, a little unsteady.
“So don’t tell them.”
He captured one of those hands, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “Believe me. I won’t.”
It’s what they wanted her for, though. Her ability. And they couldn’t have it both ways. Couldn’t have her only import the files they wanted but keep her in the dark about their own activities.
Soon, she thought, they would consider her a danger. To them, to the world. How long would they use her before discarding her? And how long before Sean grew tired of her and ratted her out?
There you go again. Not trusting. Believing the worst. He deserved better. “You really don’t mind that I can learn everything about you so easily?”
“As I don’t plan to keep secrets from you again, no, I really don’t mind. But I would appreciate it if you promised to come to me, talk to me, if anything you learn about me disturbs you.”
A promise like that implied she would be around for a while. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she said, “I promise.” And she meant it. Starting now. “Your psychiatrist believes you are wrong to push people out of your life.”
A muscle ticced below his eye and a rosy flush overtook his cheeks. “Every agent has to see a shrink periodically.”
“Well, you’re not going to drive me insane with your darkness. I told you. I like it.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Your father was wrong, Sean. Not once have I thought I was losing my mind.”
“But it has happened to others,” he insisted harshly.
“I’m different. Remember? My brain operates on a different wavelength.”
They stared at each other as he considered her words. Then, slowly, a smile curved his lips, and the clouds cleared from his eyes. “Then I won’t hold anything back from you. I won’t push you away,” he said. “God help you, I’ll only draw you closer. I didn’t have much fight left in me anyway. I want you too damn bad. Now, enough of that. For now. Or I’ll forget what we’re here for. Did you find anything about the man who screwed with your head? What he’s like, if he’s tracked others like you? If he caught them, what he did to them?”
“Not yet.”
“Damn.”
She pulled her gaze from Sean’s—it was either that or sink into him and kiss the breath out of him. The more time she spent with him, the more she learned about him, the more she liked him and the more she wanted to make something work between them. Was that possible, though? He seemed to think so, but doubts still filled her. About his job, about her situation, her future.
“What do we do now?” she asked, not knowing if she meant physically or emotionally. He wasn’t going to hold anything back now. Why had she pressed for such a thing? If she’d thought resisting him before had been difficult . . .
“Put this on,” he said, holding out a Kevlar vest.
Looking around, she did as commanded. He’d replaced the concrete block, turned off all the lights but a single lamp. He’d hooked guns to the wall and aimed them in different directions.
“What about my face and lower body? Not like the vest can protect those.”
“But it can protect you from kill shots to your vitals.”
True. “What about you?”
“I can see in the dark and know how to duck.”
But he didn’t have superhuman speed. “You expect me to sleep in this?”
“Yeah.”
Figured. “You gonna hold me?” She meant the question to emerge as sarcasm. It emerged as need.
“Absolutely.” He bent down and scooped her up into his arms.
Gabby didn’t protest. Actually, she rested her cheek against his shoulder. Those files were still opening up in her mind, bogging her down, making her drag. Gently Sean laid her against the mattress and stretched out beside her. He was fully clothed, they both were, but his body was bumpy with the weapons now strapped to him.
Earlier he’d pleasured her, sinking those
big fingers deep, but he’d taken no relief for himself. Right now, he was hard. She could feel his erection against her thigh, and her mouth watered for it.
She’d never felt for anyone what she felt for this man, and she had to please him. Had to give him something of herself and not expect anything in return. Like he’d done for her.
But as she reached for him, he stiffened, cursed under his breath. He popped up. “Someone’s here. Hide under the bed,” he commanded quietly, fiercely. “There’s a tunnel under it. Lock yourself in, understand?”
Shadows enveloped her before she could question him, blocking the room from her view. Fear blasted her, making her temples throb. She didn’t have the gun he’d promised her, and couldn’t see to help him.
Footsteps pounded. A lot of footsteps. There were rustles of clothing. Pops and whizzes, grunts and groans, and then golden light was shining brightly, filling the hallway and illuminating the bedroom, casting those shadows away. Why so bright? Was Sean . . . could he have been . . . Gabby jumped up.
“Sean, run!” someone shouted. Rowan. She recognized his voice and was both relieved and scared. If he was telling Sean to run, that mean Sean was alive but in danger.
She rushed forward, the light intensifying . . . stretching toward her. Sweat beaded over her skin. She found several bodies littering the hall, blood spilling from them. Clearly Sean had shot them. But where was he now?
“Let him go,” she heard Sean demand, his voice rough with fury.
Gabby slowed, stepping over the bodies quietly. When she reached the corner, she stopped and peeked around the wall. There Sean was, on his knees, his face cut and bleeding, an oozing wound in his shoulder, just above his heart.
She stifled a horrified gasp.
Someone had a gun to Rowan’s head. That’s how they had subdued Sean, she realized. They’d threatened his friend. She also knew Sean would have continued to fight if he hadn’t thought she was in that tunnel, safe from detection. He placed her welfare first in everything, she was coming to learn.
“This one,” the guy with the gun said, smashing it harder into Rowan’s temple, “isn’t necessary. You and the girl, however, have powers I’m very interested in. So. If you want your friend to live, you’ll do what I say.”
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