by Rebecca York
“Where are you?”
“Better not say.”
“Yeah. Right. What do you want me to do?”
“Keep things running smoothly until I get back.”
“Of course.”
“And cooperate with the cops. If they want to search my office, let them. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Okay.”
“Next time I call you, you won’t recognize the number.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“I will.” He hung up, switched off the phone, then hesitated.
“Are you wondering if you should crush it?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I think they can’t trace it if you keep it off.”
“How do you know?”
“Spy novels.”
He snorted, then gave her a considering look. “You okay?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“We will be.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
He kept driving, using a secondary road that took them farther from the city.
Finally, in a town about fifty miles from home, he came to a commercial strip with several motels. After driving past the big chains, he stopped at a smaller establishment.
“What about this?”
“Kind of run-down.”
“I’m sorry. I’d like to have found a nicer place, but this is probably the safest.”
When he parked a dozen yards from the lobby, she clenched her fingers on his arm. “What if the cops come here?”
“I think I can minimize the risk.”
He climbed out of the car and came back carrying an overnight bag. After slipping behind the wheel again, he opened the bag and took out a baseball cap, which he pulled down so the visor partly hid his face.
“That’s going to make a difference?”
“Best I can do with my looks on short notice, but I’m going to tell the desk clerk a story that will throw him off.”
“Like what?”
He sighed. “I’m fooling around with a married woman, and I’m willing to pay for anonymity.”
“Thanks.”
When she dipped into his head again, she got confirmation of that. He was thinking he wouldn’t have any trouble convincing the clerk he was here for sex. Another guy thought.
Sorry. Changing the subject, he said, “Naturally a man in that position would pay in cash.”
“Oh, Lord, I didn’t even think about that. We can’t use a credit card, right?”
“Well, not in your name or mine.”
“You have an alternate?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I’ve gotten into some scrapes from time to time. It seemed prudent to be prepared.”
“You’re supposed to be a legitimate businessman. Not a criminal.”
“Let’s not get too far into that discussion.”
“I can find out—from your mind.”
“Yes, you can.” He sighed. “Okay. I was having a dispute with some business associates who weren’t too fussy about their methods. I figured that if I had to go underground to keep from getting blown away, I’d better be prepared.”
It wasn’t a detailed explanation, but she got the drift.
“I’ll go in alone. You stay here, and kind of slip down in your seat like you’re worried the husband might spot you. Okay?”
JAKE COULD SEE SHE WASN’T okay, but she gave her agreement. He left the bag in the driver’s seat, and before he reached the door, he looked back at Rachel. She had slid lower in the seat, but he knew she was watching him.
She was from a much different background than his. Making up stories didn’t come easily to her, but she was adapting very well to the life they were leading at the moment.
What about in the future? He tried not to think about that. Could he keep it out of his mind when he touched her again? He couldn’t say. He only knew he felt as if he was in a huge truck, rushing to some dangerous destination. The brakes had failed, and he was trying with all his strength to keep the rig from plunging off a mountain and smashing on the jagged rocks below.
He didn’t think that was too much of an exaggeration for the present situation. A lot of stuff was going down. In a very short span of time.
He and Rachel were in danger, and not just from the cops or the guy who had found them twice in less than an hour. All of which was bad enough, if you considered normal scenarios. But there was another factor, as well. He and Rachel were on the brink of what she’d called mind control, which was either going to save their lives or fry their brains.
He wasn’t certain how he knew that, but he was pretty sure it was true. Maybe from the headache that had tinged his pleasure when they were headed for the bedroom.
He cut off those thoughts as he strode into the motel office. It had appeared empty, but a guy popped up from behind the counter. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a wiry build and narrow shoulders. He was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, and Jake would bet he’d been taking a nap in his chair.
“Help you?”
“I hope so.” Jake cleared his throat. “My lady friend and I need a room for the night. Trouble is, her husband is starting to wonder where she’s been disappearing in the evenings.”
The clerk nodded.
“He could be out looking for us. Or he could have…you know…gotten some friends in the cop department to beat the bushes for us.”
“Uh-huh.”
“If anybody comes around asking questions, I’d appreciate your keeping your mouth shut about it.”
When the guy looked at him expectantly, Jake got out a roll of bills and peeled off a hundred. “If somebody does show up lookin’ for us, could you give me a heads-up after they leave the office?”
“Sure thing.”
“Do you have a room around back?”
“Yup.” He turned and detached a door key off the hook. It was to room fifteen.
Jake took the key and signed the register as John Smith. He wrote down a license number at random and strode back to the car where Rachel was waiting.
“You told your nasty little story?”
“Yes. Better than saying we’re a pair of murderers.”
“There’s that.”
He drove around the back of the motel and they both got out. When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, she followed.
It was a pretty minimal place, but no worse than he had expected. There was a double bed. A beat-up dresser with an old TV. A sagging chair. A small bathroom.
He looked at Rachel, sensing her uncertainty.
“Sorry,” he said.
“None of this is your fault.”
“Or yours.”
She swallowed. “Back before Evelyn Morgan came in for that reading, I thought I knew what I was doing. I mean, my life had run along familiar lines for years, and I was happy with the way things were going, at least as far as my business was concerned.”
“Were you really happy or did you tell yourself you were?”
“I was as happy as I could be.”
“And now?”
“I’ve leaped into the unknown.”
She laid her hand on his arm, and he knew she was thinking they were wound up in a situation that they still didn’t understand—except that they were being chased by a murderer and the cops. But that was only part of it. They still had to deal with whatever was happening on a very personal level.
“Sealing the connection between us is our best shot. Or maybe if we go any further, we blow our brains out. I don’t mean with a gun,” she said in a strangled voice.
He had been thinking something similar. They were walking a fine line between passion and destruction.
“How do we…do it?” she asked.
He laughed. “The usual way.”
Knowing he had reached the limit of his endurance, he hauled her into his arms.
She gasped at the contact, gasped again when he wrap
ped his arms around her and dragged her tight against his body.
She didn’t try to pull away. They both knew it was too late for that. Instead she clung to him with a desperation that echoed his own.
Again, it wasn’t simply a guess about what she was feeling. He knew.
They swayed together in the center of the little room, and when his hands began to move over her back and shoulders, she did the same, touching him, increasing the contact.
He was so hot now that he thought he might explode, but he wouldn’t rush this. He wanted to draw out the pleasure of making love with her for the first time, and he also knew that rushing could be a fatal mistake.
So they touched and murmured unnecessary words to each other because there was nothing they could say that the other didn’t sense.
THE MESSAGE CAME TO MICKEY loud and clear from Tanya’s mind to his.
We’re going to New Orleans.
Why?
First I was thinking about the dead lady. Evelyn Morgan. Now I know something’s changed. And it’s got to do with us.
She’s dead. She can’t hurt us.
But someone else can, and we’ve got to get rid of them.
She must have felt his resistance, because she gave him a stern look.
Mickey tried to make her understand the panic he was feeling. We have a good thing going. I don’t want to mess it up by…sticking our noses in where they don’t belong. Why can’t we just stay in Baltimore and keep out of it? We can go anywhere else in the country we want. We could even go to France.
Neither one of us can speak French.
Well, what about Canada?
Too dangerous. Can’t you feel it?
He swallowed. He wanted to ignore the gnawing sensations of danger that had him waking up in the middle of the night.
Someone else is about to get the power.
Maybe not. And what if they do? We don’t have to get anywhere near them.
Suppose they come after us?
Why would they?
Because they know it’s either us or them, and we have to stop them before they get…complete control.
She went silent, and he could feel her sending her mind out toward the other ones. The man and woman who were like him and Tanya.
He didn’t know why it had happened to them. The mind-meld thing. He didn’t know why it had happened to anyone else, either.
Maybe they’ll blow their brains out. Like we almost did.
We can hope.
We don’t have to go after them, he said again without much conviction. She was the one who made the major decisions, and he knew that they would be heading south if the other couple survived.
WHEN THEY’D GOTTEN CLOSE before, Jake had picked up impressions of Rachel’s past. And she of his. Now they were both focused on this moment in time. The two of them. Alone in a room. Where nobody could interrupt them.
We hope.
We’re all right, he assured her, praying it was true. And she caught that, too.
You can’t lie to me.
I was trying to reassure you.
You can’t do that, either. Not really.
Because he hated hearing her say that, he lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss that would have silenced her words. It couldn’t silence her thoughts, but he knew she was doing the same thing he was. Focusing on the two of them. Arousing each other. Getting ready to take a step that would change everything.
Everything’s already changed.
That was true, too.
His head was pounding. A background beat that he didn’t like.
But that was part of the whole thing.
The first time a woman makes love, there’s pain.
Not a headache. Despite himself, he laughed. And she did, too.
Maybe we have to break through a barrier, get tuned to each other.
How?
Only one way.
A man’s answer.
She made the wry observation, but he knew they were on the same wavelength.
Their clothing was in the way. He worked her shirt out of her waistband and slipped his hands under, sighing as he stroked the soft skin of her back.
Then he reached up to unhook her bra so that he could slide his hands to her front and cup her breasts.
“Oh.”
He smiled as he kissed her. He wanted to make her so hot that she couldn’t think straight. Maybe that was the way to wipe out the pain building inside his skull.
He knew she caught that thought when she slid her hand down the front of his body, cupping her fingers over his erection, rocking her palm against him.
Not too much of that. I want this to last.
She raised her hands, doing what he had done, slipping her fingers under his T-shirt so that she could stroke his back before pushing the fabric up.
He stepped away from her and pulled the shirt over his head.
She unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it away along with her bra.
He stared at her in the dim light coming through the Venetian blinds. “You are so beautiful.”
She grinned. “You’ve got a pretty nice chest, too.”
He crossed to the window and pulled the cord, closing the blinds. Then he walked to the bathroom and turned on the light, closing the door partway so that there was only a dim glow in the bedroom.
When he looked back to her, he saw that she had turned down the covers and was reaching for the snap at the top of her slacks.
“Let me.”
She went still as he crossed to her, worked the snap, then slowly lowered the zipper so that he could reach his hand inside her slacks and inside her panties, combing his fingers through the crinkly hair at the juncture of her legs.
He felt so much. Too much. Sexual arousal, the thoughts leaping toward him—and the pounding in his head that might wipe out everything else.
He strove to put that worry out of his mind. It wouldn’t happen if they did this right.
Which was what, exactly?
As he caressed her, he moved his lips against hers, stroking then nibbling with his teeth. He knew the exact amount of pressure that would bring her pleasure instead of pain because he could follow her reaction to the sensations.
A firestorm of heat threatened to overwhelm him.
If he didn’t make love with her…
He couldn’t finish the thought because the idea of stopping had become unbearable. Worse than the pounding in his head. He would die if he didn’t make love to Rachel.
And die if he did?
He sensed her fear, and he knew she sensed his in equal measure.
He thought of the tried-and-true male line about not being able to stop. It was a lie. He could always stop.
Until this moment.
They staggered together to the bed and flopped onto the mattress. He rolled toward her, gathering her close, his body rocking against hers.
When it registered that neither one of them had taken off their pants, he groaned.
Her laughter rang in his head as they rolled away from each other, each shedding the remainder of their clothing.
When they were both naked, he reached for her again, both of them gasping at the sensation of skin against skin.
They were trembling, coping with more than any individual should have to bear alone. His head throbbed, and he knew that he might stroke out from the intensity.
He heard her gasp. Not just the sound, but in his mind—generated by the same pain he felt.
If he let her go, would it stop? Or would snapping the connection now finish them off?
Maybe that was the key to survival. The courage to see this through—no matter where it led.
The only path is forward.
Together.
We aren’t alone, she answered.
Still, it was hard to hold on to that truth in any rational way. Needing to be closer to her, he slid his hand down her body again, dipping into her folds, finding her wet and molten for him. He didn’t have to ask if she was read
y to take the final step. He knew.
Yes!
And she didn’t have to use her hand to guide him into her. They simply did it, moving from separate individuals to one being in a smooth, sure motion.
He was inside her. Or was she inside him? He didn’t know anymore where he ended and she began. He only knew that every sense was tuned to her. Every thought. And she to him.
One of them began to move. No, it was both of them, because the pressure in their brains was too great, and the only way to relieve it was through sexual climax.
That didn’t make sense. Yet he thought it was true, at least with the part of his mind that could still function coherently.
Or was it simply instinct that had him grasping for completion, desperate to finish this—and bring her along with him, because if it didn’t end soon, he knew he would die.
None of it made sense. But he was beyond trying to understand what was happening. He could only focus on the wonderful sensations—his and hers—as they rushed toward ecstasy…or death.
He couldn’t have stopped now if the door had burst open and the man with the gun had come charging in firing at point-blank range.
He clung to Rachel and she to him. Not just with his hands, with his mind. It was everything. What he had sought his whole life. Yet as he hovered on the edge of a blinding explosion, he wasn’t sure he would survive.
Chapter Seven
You must. We must.
I’m lost without you.
Was that true?
It felt like the truth to Jake.
They crashed through a barrier that seemed to transcend time and space, the two of them together, always together as climax rocked them, blinding them to everything but what they had found together. They held tightly to each other as they came down to earth again, each of them panting, each of them marveling at what they had done together.
In that moment, there was nothing he could hide from her. Nothing she could hide from him. He didn’t even try, just drifted on the perfect oneness of their shared consciousness.
Finally, he understood how alone he had been. Alone in a way that he had never been able to admit to anyone, especially himself.
He had been cut off from ordinary human relationships. Not because he was less, as he’d always thought. It was just the opposite. Because he was more.