by J. D. Dexter
“She called, I answered.” He responds, taking Brent’s hand next.
All three of my boys groan loudly.
“Don’t tell her that!” Josh whines.
“Come on, man, seriously?” Brent asks, eyes wide.
“Don’t get her started already!” Brian plants his forehead in his huge hand.
“Hunter likes me. You guys are just rude.” I give Hunter a wink as I wrap my arm around his waist.
“We like you, too. But we also know you really well.” Brian answers for the group. Turning to face Hunter, he says, “Don’t let her fool you into thinking she’s meek or submissive. Our girl has got claws and sass.”
“Two things which I admire about her,” Hunter responds seriously.
“Ha ha, suck it, jerks!” I raise my arms in victory pumps.
“Not to mention her delicacy, diplomacy, and being a gracious winner,” Hunter adds demurely. All of the men start laughing, including Hunter.
I give in and laugh, too.
“Well played, good sir. Well played.” I lick a fingertip before marking a point in the air.
“Well, it seems that everyone is in good spirits. I told you George, there was nothing to worry about.” Mom’s voice trails in over the sound of dying laughter.
Hunter is getting manly back slaps from all the boys as Mom, Dad, and Mark step into the front room. This many men, all tall, in so small a space is a little daunting. Everyone spreads out to various chairs, couches, and ottomans.
“I’ve got Pepsi, Coke, sweet tea, water, and milk. Who wants what?” I ask. My mother raised me to be a good host.
Mom helps me get the drinks to give to the men. In the kitchen, she turns to me, stalling out putting ice in an empty glass.
“Finley, how did your date go?” she asks me quietly, looking into the other room to make sure she isn’t overheard.
All of the guys are busy discussing something. From the looks of competition on their faces, I’m guessing sports are the topics of discussion. We have some pretty advanced rivalries in our group.
“Oh, Mom. It was wonderful! Let’s go to lunch and I’ll tell you all about it. Okay?” I want more than a couple minutes to share how my date went with Hunter. Other than Josh and the boys, Mom’s always been my best friend and my staunchest supporter. And there are somethings you just can’t share with boys, no matter their status in your life.
“I’m so happy for you!” She reaches out and pulls me into a hug. Mom’s always been sad that I’m single. So I can only imagine how happy she is that I’ve met someone great, and a doctor. I smile to myself and return her hug.
“Of course, let’s do lunch. We’ve not been out, just the two of us, for so long. That would be wonderful!” Her smile is so happy, even while she’s busy filling the glasses with ice before pouring out beverages.
Mom fills the cups, I take them out to the menfolk.
Hunter takes his Coke, looking up at me, “Do you ladies need any help?” He does that half-stand gesture before I push on his arm to stop his movement.
“Not at all. We’ve got it under control.” I shake my head at him as I go back for the last glass.
Mom’s brought out the rest of the beverages, handing out the correct glass to each person. I’m always screwing that part up. I usually just stand between the kitchen and dining/living room and call out what drink I’m holding, letting the person tell me who ordered what.
Sitting down next to Hunter with my own cup of Coke, we let the sports talk wind down.
After taking a couple of fortifying swallows of refreshing Coke, I clear my throat, signaling a start to the meeting.
Everyone quiets down and gives me their attention. Josh looks like he’s concentrating really hard on something, but since I’m not getting anything from him, either out loud or mentally, I’m guessing he really doesn’t want to share his thoughts.
“Earlier today, Josh and I went to lunch. While there, someone opened fire, apparently aiming for me.” I dropped that truth bomb and waited out the panicked responses.
Everyone was talking—screaming really—over everyone else that it was impossible to understand anything that was being said.
I sat back, Hunter quiet beside me, and let my family get all of the angst, rage, panic, and confusion out of their systems before trying to start talking again.
“Are you okay?” Hunter asks me quietly, his mouth so close to my ear that his breath moves the tiny hairs along my hairline. I shiver at the sensation.
Focus, Finley, focus. He’s worried about you, not trying to get you all worked up.
I take a couple of deep breaths, but they’re scented with his spice, so that doesn’t really help bring me back under control. I take a bracing sip of Coke, the delicious bitterness cooling my throat.
“Yeah. Josh saved me. You know, after he threw me on the floor and then smooshed me.” I smile up into his serious face.
He turns slightly, and his eyes flick to Josh. They exchange man-nods, some type of unspoken communication most men seem to be conversant in.
“Okay. I’m glad you’re safe.” He plants a small kiss right behind my ear. I’m not sure I’m successful in stifling the tiny moan, but everyone else is still so loud, that at least it’s not noticeable.
To everyone but Hunter, that is.
“Ears, huh?” he asks, his voice a sexy rasp.
“Something like that.” I manage to get out, having to shuffle a couple inches away from temptation.
His husky chuckle does little to help cool me down.
I take another sip of Coke. It takes more than just one to lower my temperature. Tilting my head back, I drain the glass. This man lights me up like a match to dry grass during a burn ban.
The noise level has dropped considerably, but everyone is still talking over each other, so I get up and get a refill. Standing at the counter, I down a couple of huge gulps. Topping off my soda one last time, I make my way back out into the now quiet living room. Everyone’s eyes are on me.
Please don’t let my cheeks be burning, please don’t let my cheeks be burning.
“Why are your cheeks so red?” Josh, the evil jerk, asks the question. Bringing everyone’s attention to my over-warm state.
“Hot flash,” I quip, making my way over to Hunter’s side once again.
Mom’s ladylike snort fills the air. I’ve never been able to achieve a ladylike snort; Mom’s my snort goals.
I hear Hunter’s faint chuckle, but his chest doesn’t move, so I’m not sure he actually made any noise.
“Yeah right, a hot flash. The tips of your ears are bright red, too. You little hussy. Getting hot and bothered after bomb-shelling everyone. For shame, Finley Marie. For shame.” Josh’s mental mocking provokes me enough to glare at him—which calls even more attention to myself.
“Why are you glaring at Josh?” Dad asks, his tone even. He’s merely asking a simple question.
“Because Josh can now talk to me through telepathy,” I say defiantly.
Suck on that Joshua Hastings!
Silence reigns.
I can hear the oversized clock ticking on the north wall, counting of the seconds.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Mayhem erupts once again. Josh’s petulant glare my only point of levity.
It seems like Hunter is really concerned at this point. Even though he’s not joining the chaos surrounding us, he is looking at me with something akin to anguish in his eyes.
I lean towards him, taking his free hand in my own. “We’ll figure this out. I promise. This doesn’t change anything between you and me, or Josh and me. You’ll have to work together if it changes something between the two of you.”
His ear is right next to my lips, close enough that I can feel my own breath hitting his skin and rebounding back to my lips. I restrain myself from kissing his ear lobe. Not sure what my welcome, or his response,
would be. I lock down the inner hussy, as Josh put it, and move back.
Hunter’s dark chocolate eyes have turned into my favorite guilty pleasure: chocolate fondue. I quirk one eyebrow at him, glancing at his ear before looking back into his eyes. Asking him silently if playing with his ears does it for him, too.
I get an infinitesimal answering nod in return.
I have to clench my knees together, the pulsing in my lower belly so not appropriate for the time and place.
Get it together, lady. Telepathy and gun shots bad. Focus, you idiot.
“Once you two are done making googly eyes at each other, we’re ready for the explanation,” Brent says drolly.
Tearing my eyes away from Hunter’s handsome face, I turn to find all eyes on me and Hunter. I really hope he isn’t embarrassed. I feel my cheeks reheat just a little bit.
I clear my throat, “Right. Which do you want me to start with?” When in doubt, ask a question.
“I think we’d all like you to start with the expansion of your…enhancements. That’s the word you wanted to use right?” Dad is working to keep a straight face, the laughter lurking in his eyes.
“Yes, enhancements for right now. I’m sure I’ll change it again at some point, but it sounds better than powers or energies. Those sound lame…”
I give myself a shake. “Right, well, when we were in the restaurant, with dishes exploding, food flying everywhere, and my drink splashing the table, Josh’s mouth wasn’t moving, but I could hear his voice in my head.”
“At first, I had no idea what was happening. I’ve never experienced hallucinations, but I imagine this is what those feel like.” I twirl my finger in a small circle next to my temple. “It was almost like watching subtitles on a foreign film.” I try to explain it to them even though I don’t really understand it myself.
“It happened a few times. A couple of times, Josh was using his body as a cover for mine while we’re plastered to the dirty floor. So, I’m not sure that he wasn’t actually talking to me, but it felt the same in my head when he wasn’t moving his mouth at all. It also happened in the car, when we were just having normal conversation. I have a theory about how this all happened, but wanted to discuss it with everyone at the same time so I don’t have to share the same information over and over.”
“What’s your theory, Finley?” Marks asks, his lips pinched at the corners.
Everyone else nods for me to go on as well.
“I think when I healed Josh so extensively, I transferred some part of my enhancement to him. Although this is the first time I’ve ever heard anyone’s voice, other than my own, in my head.” I tilt my head, thinking about it pretty hard. Not even when I was in the room with the agents, or wishing for telepathy, had I heard any voices but my own.
“I would be interested in knowing if Josh’s body now carried some type of ANK-23 marker.” Mark voices his thought quietly. I’m pretty sure he didn’t want to get everyone riled up with the request.
“Does that mean you think Finley changed Josh at the DNA level?” Dad asks, leaning forward, his eyebrows raised.
“Perhaps. However, considering the welcome Finley received from the Alphabet Agencies, I’m not sure we should use the equipment at my lab.” Mark looks dejected for a second. Rallying quickly, he says, “But I do have a colleague in another lab who would be able to do the DNA sequencing for us.”
“And what story would you give for the sample you take in?” Brent asks. He’s always making sure we have plausible reasons for doing things. Even if those things might not be completely legitimate.
“I’ll have to think on that one.” Mark responds, stroking his freshly shaven chin, face thoughtful.
“Well, wouldn’t it be best to just assume Finley’s theory is correct?” Hunter suggests. All eyes swing to him.
“Go on.” Josh sweeps his hand, giving Hunter the floor.
“I just mean to say that short of doing testing that could get into the hands of people we don’t want to have the information, we assume Finley’s theory is correct and move on from there? And I just want to mention, that I had no idea that Josh had been hurt, or that Finley healed him.” He eyes bore into me with a glare.
Whoopsie Daisy!
My throat goes hot and dry, afraid he might really be upset with me. “Yeah, sorry about that. We didn’t want to share it with anyone who didn’t need to know,” I lean in to tell him. I try to apologize with my eyes, give his hand a squeeze.
“I understand,” he returns the pressure, “and wow. The medical implications of what you can do are huge. And before everyone gets all tetchy about it, I now fully understand why that can never happen.” He pats the air, motioning for everyone to keep calm.
“Too true.” Mom leans over and pats Hunter’s leg, like only a mother can.
“Thank you, Mrs. Tindol.”
“Oh, honey, you call me Mrs. T, just like all of these other galoots do.” She waves her hand to include all of the boys.
“Thank you, again, Mrs. T.” Hunter smiles at her.
Yeah, go, mom! I mentally pump my fists in the air.
“Now that Hunter’s officially part of the club—we’ll discuss hazing rites later—I think we should do what Hunter and Finley suggest. Simply assume that Josh inherited some enhancements from her,” Brent offers, nodding his head the longer he talks. “Unless knowing absolutely becomes a bigger issues later, I think we follow Hunter’s advice and just assume that’s what happened.”
“We’ll discuss hazing rituals never,” I pipe up.
“Not for you to worry about, Finley-babe. We’ll keep him in one piece. Scout’s honor.” Brian points his finger at me before, giving me a mock salute.
“You were never a boy scout.”
“I can hold my own. But thank you for defending me.” Hunter’s hand lands on my thigh, giving it a warm squeeze.
Once again, I have to rein in the spike in my heart beat. Something about this man just does it for me.
“I’ve got your back.” I flex my arms, showing him my guns.
He laughs. “Whew. I was worried for a second,” he says drily.
“Back to the topic at hand, we’re going to go with what Finley suggests. Great. Settled. Josh, can you hear Finley?” Brian asks, looking between Josh and me.
“I have no idea. I’ve just been freaked out that she could hear me. My mind is not fit for the company of ladies.” He stresses to the men in the room. All of whom nod sagely.
Mom and I laugh out loud, both of our heads thrown back.
Josh looks a little nonplussed, so do the rest of the men.
“Oh please, like what you think is so different than what comes out of your mouth?” I barely get the words out, I’m laughing so hard.
“Just keep thinking that, Finley-babe. We’ll be fine with that opinion.” Brian hurries to answer, cutting off Josh. He gives Josh a censoring look. Josh glares back at him.
“Well, now I’m just intrigued.”
“I as well.” Mom agrees.
“Nope, we’ll not discuss that anymore.” Dad interjects, his hands out to stop that line of questioning.
“And besides, I can’t go digging around in Josh’s brain. I just hear what he’s thinking,” I try to explain something I don’t really understand myself.
“Have you tried ‘digging around’ in his brain yet?” Brent asks seriously.
Josh glares at him angrily, his nostrils flaring.
“Thanks for volunteering me to get brain probed, douche bag.” Josh gives Brent the finger.
“Happy to help.” Brent says sweetly, reaches out, acting like he’s grabbing said finger and putting it in his pocket. “Well, Finley, give it a go, babe.”
I look to Josh, trying to let him know that the ball’s in his court. “You okay with this? I won’t if you don’t want me to,” I tell him. I would never invade his privacy like that. Our minds are not for other people to invade.
“Yeah, it’s fine. I would rather know than not.�
� He shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders a couple of times, and blows out big breaths like he’s getting ready to run a race or lift really heavy weight.
“Okay. I have no idea how to do this, so bear with me. Here goes,” I say out loud.
“Exactly what someone wants to hear when putting their lives in someone else’s hands.” Josh grumps at me.
I quiet my mind, taking long slow breaths like I do for yoga. Closing my eyes, I push everything else out of my mind. The room, and my favorite people, pushed to the edges of my consciousness.
I bring the picture of Josh into my mind. His beloved face so familiar to me, every facial expression, every spot, smile line, his heavy eyebrows balancing out the wide chin. My favorite color of blue is the true blue of his eyes, framed perfectly by the heavy fringe of dark lashes most girls would kill for. His lips are finely sculpted, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top.
I try to think of my enhancement as taking on the mental shape of an arrow. Brian bow hunts, and I’ve gone with him a couple of times. I fashion my mental arrow after one of his bow hunting arrows.
A finely-honed blade of silver atop a long black carbon fiber shaft, ending in nylon fletchings. I aim the arrow at Josh’s mind, trying not to blast through it, but merely make the tiniest opening for me to see inside his mind.
As soon as my mental arrow breaches the space surrounding Josh’s head, I see a wash of colors, similar to the Spectrum. I can’t really tell if I see his Spectrum outline, like I saw the assassin’s, but I push just a little harder. Not wanting to hurt him or invade his privacy if I can help it. I push once more, adding the slightest bit of pressure.
With a sort of popping sensation, I see myself in a room the size of a football field, lined with heavily barred doors.
Above each door is a lit sign, similar to the Exit signs found in public buildings. Each sign is labeled, some I can’t understand, some immediately recognizable: Sex, Food, Women, Family. The ones I don’t recognize look like they’re written in foreign languages or angry-looking coffee stains.
I mentally call out softly, “Hello?”
I hear a scrabbling, like the tiny claws of a mouse clicking on the floor, at the far end of the room. Turning towards the sound, I call out again, a little louder. “Hello? Josh, is that you?”