I avoided the little voice in the back of my mind that demanded to know exactly how much of a life I would have if I didn’t help. Randall Oakes threatened the very fabric of that life, like a cancer. I could argue this point from several different directions, but if I did nothing and he killed again, wouldn’t that death be on me? Randall Oakes plagued my territory, an infestation as dark and as insidious as any cornfield grafter.
“This isn’t about vigilantism, Chance. This is about dealing with our problem ourselves. The mundanes aren’t prepared for this burden.”
“Mundanes? They’re law enforcement, Victor. You’re a part of the FBI. Why can’t they handle it?”
Of course, convincing the mundanes that psychic and paranormal phenomena existed would take forever. Then there would be the ration of fear if the possibility that was Oakes became public knowledge. It was difficult enough to swallow, knowing what I know. The tabloid nature would discolor public sentiment so easily and so completely.
“Do you think your friend Jamison could handle this? Do you think Jack could?” Victor didn’t sneer, but he might as well have. His words just irritated the already open wound of my concerns. I felt bereft without Jack’s support, and the fact I now knew he didn’t really believe in me made me feel even worse. Trust Victor to poke into that wound and fiddle around. I think I was better off believing Jack was merely skeptical but willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.
“What do you want from me? Besides driving me insane and sinking me deeper into this mess than I have any desire to be?”
“He wants your help.” It was the first time I’d heard Robert speak, and his low voice possessed a raspy quality, like it took real effort to get the words out. “He wants you to use your skills and help us.”
“Robert.” Victor silenced him with a look. Nice alpha dog dynamic there. “I do want your help, Chance,” Victor continued, his gaze coming back to rest on me. “Because you are the only one who can help me.”
“Your little bit of precog foresight tell you that?” Oh, yes, let’s up the snide-and-cheap-shot ante. I sounded like every other Doubting Thomas on the planet. But damn it, I didn’t want to have anything to do with this. These people were destroying my life.
All right, so maybe destroying my life was a bit extreme, but they were certainly causing me a lot of problems, problems I didn’t need and didn’t want. I am not a super hero. I don’t feel the need to rush in and save the damn day. I ignored the little voice in the back of my mind that kept peppering me with guilt. Fear aces guilt, sorry.
I’m a hedge witch. Give me a good crop circle or something.
“Chance, you’re the only one he can’t find, he can’t sense and he can’t see. You and I both know that. He’s afraid of you and with good reason. You obviously have an axe to grind with him.”
“No, I don’t.” Liar. “Personally, I never want to see him again.”
“So, you do what? Sit around here, keeping your head down and hoping the storm will blow past? It’s not going to. Sooner or later, he’ll take the risk to come after you. He knows where you are.”
I swallowed back a frisson of fear. “Fine, I’ll move,” I spat defiantly.
“To where? You’re living space is pretty limited, isn’t it?” One of his eyebrows had the audacity to quirk upward, mocking me, taunting me, daring me to deny it. “You’re pretty proud of your own talents, but they do come with limitations.”
My gaze narrowed and I fought the deep temptation to slap that smirk right off his face. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. If I could think of any other way to do this, I would. But I can’t. I’ve lived with this hell for the last eight years…”
“You’ve lived with it?” I shouted. “You have? Where are your scars? When were you in the hospital? Oh, that’s right. You’ve had to file bloody reports on it!”
How dare he? How dare he compare his pain with mine? How dare he act like this burden was some hard and heavy thing? He didn’t know the fear. He doesn’t know what it’s like to wake up in the middle of the night feeling your insides bursting forth as a hot knife sank into them. And I know he doesn’t see Oakes’ cold, dead eyes when he closes his.
The outrage bubbled deep inside, and like pressure in a steam cooker, I imagined the steam starting to scream out of my ears. I felt my heart thundering in the vein that pulsed in my temple. If Victor were a clump of dirt, I’d have smashed him into bits.
Victor held up his hands in placating fashion. “Yes, Chance. I have lived with this nightmare. I’ve lived with knowing where it’s coming from and having no way to stop it, no way to cut it off. When it stopped before, I thought it was over and I thought I was in the clear.”
There might have been a note of shame in his voice, but I couldn’t be certain nor did I give much of a damn. In the clear. Well, fancy that. In the clear of any responsibility. In the clear of any guilt for more lives lost. Wasn’t that just damn peachy keen? I felt a blood vessel pumping furiously in my forehead and my right eye was starting to twitch.
“I was wrong, Chance.” He looked at me earnestly. “Don’t you see I was wrong? Those people are dead because I couldn’t act before, and now…now I don’t want any more people to die or suffer because I was too afraid or too stupid to do anything before.”
My hand rubbed urgently at my forehead, as though I could suppress the throbbing that pulsed in it. My stomach swam with revulsion and a clammy sweat broke out all over my body. I couldn’t do this.
I couldn’t.
But I opened my mouth and asked, “Fine, what the hell do you want me to do?”
Twenty Three
My name is Chance Monroe. I’m potentially the stupidest person alive. I sat in the backseat of Robert’s Lincoln Continental, slouched down and surly. Next to me on the seat sat my well-packed duffel and a plaid overnight bag—that had certainly seen better decades—with some spare clothes and toiletries thrown in.
I left a note for Betty to explain I needed to go work at a site for a couple of days, which wasn’t anything unusual for me. Betty would look after Romeo in my absence. I found out quickly enough why Robert came along. He charmed my watchers. They never noticed my absence. I’m not sure what they did with my missing car.
What the hell am I doing riding around with these two while my exhaustion level mounts? I barely recovered from my bout with shock. Sydney will kick my ass if she finds out. So not telling her might save me headaches, but she and her family became my extended family. Protecting them—I sighed. Too tired for this. Focus on the problem at hand and worry about the future later. You know, if there is a later…
Maybe my favorite print should be labeled Stupidity instead of Wisdom.
“So now what?” It wouldn’t surprise me if we car pulled up to some dark, spooky looking house with Oakes just inside the door, waiting to finish the job he started eight years ago. Today, playing the part of me is the daffy headed blonde in a diaphanous negligee. My skin positively crawled at the thought.
“Now we get together with the tracker and we start our own hunt.” Victor spoke over his shoulder from the front seat. Robert drove, and since his little outburst in the apartment, he’d said nothing else.
“Who’s the tracker?” I knew a tracker. I’d known him for years, but I didn’t think if we referred to the same man. I'd know if Jaime were back—wouldn't I? My heart gave a little squeeze. If it is Jaime—my odds just improved.
“He's a good resource, I worked with him overseas. He uses shamanistic techniques to get a person’s metaphysical scent, if you will, and I think you’ll like him. He’s a lot like you, only he uses the Earth to track people. He explained it to me once, but I’m afraid my gifts don’t run in that direction so it was all very technical.”
Jaime. I sighed, relaxing deeper into myself. The chances of there being two men with the same skill set in this generation—and here in Virginia? Too remote to entertain.
I tuned Callanpor
t out. The fool's errand took on new meaning—a more hopeful one.
I want Jack. The petulant fought its way to the top. Maybe I can't really validate my abilities for him. I'm not even sure I can explain how Oakes ducked their manhunts and how he laid low all these years. I barely believe it—I know this is the right thing to do. Sometimes, a body had to just rely on those instincts.
“Chance?” Victor twisted in the front seat to look at me. I turned my gaze out the window, I didn't want or need his sympathy or kindness or anything else in his face. I needed him to be the jerk making me do this. It was a cop-out, but one I needed that right now.
“What?”
“I wish there was another way to do this.” His soft voice beckoned my attention That hint of kindness I glimpsed before returned. There was no pity, but there was a wealth of worry and concern tempered by the kindness. “I hate having to ask you to do this, and if you want to hate me for it, that’s okay, too.” Thanks Vic.
“Can’t I just be a martyr?” My demand relied on wry humor.
“Would it be easier for you to be a martyr?” he countered with a bit of a grin.
“Yes.” Damn, I sounded childish. A grin pulled at my lips though, my gaze finally meeting Victor’s. “Whenever you tie a witch to a stake and threaten to light the fire, she has the right to be a martyr.”
“Then by all means.” Oh hell, is he flirting? “Feel free to be a martyr. I accept full responsibility for twisting your arm.”
I rolled my eyes and finally smiled. “Thank you. I feel much better.”
“Good.” He sounded genuinely pleased. “I’m glad. Is there anything else I can do to set you at ease?”
I started to say no, but then gave it some thought. What the hell, I already lived dangerously. “Don’t suppose you smoke, do you?”
“Robert?”
The driver pulled a pack out of his jacket pocket along with a lighter. Victor passed them back to me with another smile, and I pulled my hand back when his fingers lingered a bit too long.
“Thank you.” I popped open the pack and extracted one. Somewhere in the back of my mind, that little voice started its litany on why I quit smoking in the first place.
I ignored the voice and took a very long, very satisfying drag on the cigarette. Robert must have pushed a button up front because the window next to me cracked open so the smoke could escape. I exhaled a long stream toward it and met Victor's speculative gaze.
Not interested. Not playing. I looked away from the invitation to talk. I didn't want to be friends with Agent Callanport. He was a means to an end.
That was it.
I’d deal with the rest of it when we got to Tracker’s. The childish part of me tucked the pack of cigarettes and the lighter away into a pocket in my shirt. I might as well get something out of this deal.
Twenty Four
The sun settled into stunning glory in the west as Robert pulled onto a dirt road. I lost track of our route, except to notice nothing about our location set off my internal alarms. The road grew bumpier, as only a dirt road can. It jarred us about, and I lifted a hand unconsciously to grip the panic handle to try to keep my head from bashing against the window.
I settled my sunglasses into place to keep Victor’s prying gaze off mine.
I sighed in relief as the car swung off the bumpy road onto a gravel drive and slid to a stop in front of an old box-shaped cabin. The fields around it seemed suited for hay and corn. Baling machinery sitting in a three-sided shed validated my assessment.
The engine shuddered to a halt. I pulled the door release and let myself out before the two in the front seat reacted. The air cooled down and the sun dipped lower in the sky. The cicadas began their evening chirp. Rabbits rustled, scampering away through the tall grass. I hated bringing something rotten into the beautiful location.
I lit another cigarette. Holding my breath and the smoke in, my eyes refocused on the cabin as the door opened and a six-foot plus shadowy figure resolved itself by stepping out onto the smooth, cedar planks of the oversized porch.
My skin came alive with a hundred tingles. I found myself glad my back remained toward Victor and Robert. I imagined the pole-axed expression on my face would not be easily explained away. The charge of energy, a cross between static electricity and violent tickling, passed over my body and grounded out at the bottom of my feet.
“Jaime?” I blinked hard, and squealed. I thought of him in the car and he appeared. The six-foot plus dark-skinned man standing on the porch grinned at me. “James Ian Smith!”
“Hello, Chance-baby.” Jaime’s deep voice wrapped around me, and as his long strides ate up the distance separating us, I laughed delightedly and gave myself up to the friendly, swooping bear hug that engulfed me. “Been a long time.”
The contact renewed the electric charge, and my burden lightened for a moment. “No kidding.” I laughed and pulled away. “How long have you been back? I thought you were still stationed in Bosnia or Afghanistan somewhere.”
He took a step back and actually looked sheepish. “Oh, I left my commission about six months ago. Been traveling mostly. I came home last month.” He nodded his head toward the cabin and the hay baler. “It isn’t much, but it’s mine.” His Native American heritage showed proudly in his strong cheekbones and prominent nose. A long thin scar that ran from the corner of his lip to the middle of his chin spoke of things he probably felt better leaving unmentioned.
“And you didn’t call me?” Two old friends in two weeks—almost worth the pale shadow Oakes cast to see both of them again. Screw that, seeing Jaime was better than good. We grew up together, played together—but beyond those high school friendships and college aged pranks—Jaime was my guardian. The Yin to my Yang—everything smoothed out and for the first time in longer than I could account for—I felt like me again. I didn't know the house or the land, but I knew him. I glanced at the house, half expecting someone else to come out, but it was just the four of us.
“Now I know why you...” I paused to glance over at Victor and Robert. The former wore a frown and the latter looked stunned. Jaime knew about Oakes. No wonder he wanted in on this job. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
He followed my look, and his gaze became distinctly hooded and standoffish. Well, at least I knew I wasn’t the only one not thrilled about this gig.
“Yeah, we were supposed to do this without involving you." He gave Callanport a hard look. "Why don’t we have some coffee and…” Something behind us caught his eye and he nodded toward the drive. “Who’s that?” A pair of black cars streamed up the uneven path toward us.
I shaded my eyes and watched the pair of cars bracket in Robert’s Lincoln. When the doors opened, I sighed. Jack was the first one out of the vehicle followed by Billy and a handful of others I didn’t recognize. The agents drew their guns. The situation went from tense to electric in a matter of seconds.
“Hands up, gentlemen,” Jack instructed. “Chance, I want you to step away.”
“Jack, you know Jaime. It’s okay, and why is everyone pointing guns?” We needed to defuse this situation fast A final figure slid out of the second car, and the moment we locked gazes, I knew exactly what—or better who brought everyone into this trap.
Colleen Masters.
“Chance, please do as you’re told. Step away and everyone else keep your hands where we can see them.” Fear colored Jack’s words, fear and another emotion I couldn’t identify.
What did she tell them?
“You heard the man.” Billy’s added his authority to Jack's, and my stomach twisted. Colleen Masters ignored the others, but our gazes remained locked. This can’t be happening. I was not standing in the center of a dusty driveway in a rustic setting with guns pointing in my direction as though we were in some perverted version of the shootout at the O.K. Corral.
Perverted was a word that seemed to stick in my mind, and I felt this stupid grin begin to spread across my face. The ludicrousness of the entire situation
struck me at the wrong moment. I saw Billy shift his weight from his left foot to his right, and I was pretty sure the four of us were well covered. I shoved the heel of my hand against my mouth.
A smothered laugh escaped from behind my compressed hand, and I saw Jack’s gaze narrow on me. Of course, I probably just confirmed his opinion of me as a stark raving lunatic, but I couldn’t suppress the nervous bubble of giggles that escaped. The harder I tried to suppress them, the harder they struggled to burst out of me.
“Take it easy, Jamison.” Robert started speaking slowly, his enthralling gaze meeting Billy’s. The surreal tableau unfolded in front of me. Jack couldn’t watch all four of us at once. Jaime’s held his hands up and locked his fingers behind his head. But if anyone really knew him, they wouldn't discount him as a threat. A sensation traveled from my feet to the base of my spine. I spared a half-glance back. His black eyes appeared opaque, but I felt what lurked beneath the gaze. The full lay of the land appeared in the back of my mind as though I rediscovered it. The pleasant sensation increased my amusement and the giggles refused to be stifled.
“I think this is far from a laughing matter,” Masters interrupted as she circled around one of the vehicles. A Glock nine millimeter rested in her far too comfortable grip. “I suggest you get your hands up as well, Monroe.” I couldn’t quite see what Victor did, but I refused to raise my hands.
“Back off,” Jack barked. “Chance isn’t under arrest. She’s the victim, remember?”
“Excuse me?” My brows arched and the laughter finally smothered itself at Jack’s insinuation. “What the hell do you mean I’m the victim?”
“Chance, we know they waited for you when you to came home. We also know they disabled the team on your watch. We’ve been tracking you since you left the house.” Jack kept his voice even, the way you speak to someone who’s standing on a precipice contemplating jumping.
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