Illicit Intuitions: Sensory Ops, Book 3

by Nikki Duncan

  He would lose nothing else to Whitestone.

  Ava sat on the edge of the cot-like bed in the same slacks and cotton blouse she’d slipped on that morning. She checked her watch in the muted light coming from sconces set high in stark white, padded walls and frowned.

  Six o’clock. Evening? Morning? How much time had she lost?

  Rubbing her forehead, trying to remember where she was, she slumped beneath an onslaught of blankness. She recalled feeling a little like she was going crazy, but to actually wake up in a windowless room with padded walls? It seemed a little extreme.

  And who’d brought her?

  She tugged a patch of hair at her temple, using the pain to clear the web of confusion, and forced herself to focus. She’d gone to report to Breck. There’d been pain. Lots of pain. Then Kami and more blinding pain.

  Kami. Kami had brought her…to H.

  The padding-covered door had a small rectangular window at eye level. The only other furniture was a small round table with two heavy-duty, plastic-looking stools. She wasn’t even going to think about the commode and sink in the corner.

  She stood. Dizziness crashed like rushing waves over her. She braced her feet and held herself up by willpower. Bumbling step by bumbling step, she jerkily moved to the door. Her energy waned.

  Struggling to lift her hand through the Jell-o-thick air, she gripped the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn. She had nothing but the clothes on her back, so busting out wasn’t an option. She was trapped.

  Locked in a padded prison like a pariah.

  Why? What was happening to her?

  After peering through the window and seeing only more white walls beyond, she stumbled back to the cot before she buckled beneath the building pressure. Sitting again, she rubbed her neck and dug into her memory for more detail.

  She’d been fine at home, but had started feeling odd and conflicted on the way to the office. Breck had been angry and scared. Then she had been in such agony she’d nearly collapsed. Then Kami had been there, taking her to H’s lab. A lab she’d toured on her first day without seeing this room.

  So where was she now? And where was her stuff? Her gun?

  Kami. Kami had her purse, badge and weapon. Being without her belongings was only good for identity protection. Without her weapon, she would have to rely on her hand-to-hand training.

  Low-toned beeps preceded clicking metal. Her gaze darted to the door. She saw no one through the window. The handle turned with a slow grind.

  Her heartbeats slowed with a cautious anticipation and she glanced around for anything she could use as a weapon. Nothing.

  Shit. She was an unarmed FBI agent in a padded room with no escape. She was in no position to protect H or keep her promise to Kami. She was stranded without the backup of her team. She wasn’t going to ask if it could get worse. It would.

  H pushed open the door and stepped inside. Relief swept like a tidal wave over Ava, but was immediately replaced by suspicion.

  She should be able to stick with relief. She was with the man she’d asked for. Clearly he’d done something to help her with whatever had caused her agony, but she was better. She needed to get back to work. She needed to leave. She shouldn’t have been locked in a padded room.

  “You look better.” Sincerity slumbered in his tone. Subtle darkness marred his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” Strong enough to kick your ass if necessary.

  H nodded and closed the door with a definitive click. “We need to talk.”

  “Talk?” Butterflies danced in her belly with razor-tipped wings battling for escape. She stiffened her spine. “You mean about why you’ve locked me in a padded room? Where’s my stuff? Are we at your lab?”

  “It was for your own security.”

  “Some security.” She preferred the security of her gun.

  Intense and stoic, he went to the table and scooted out a stool. “Are you involved with Eston White?”

  “The research lab? No.” The longer she sat the clearer her mind became. The weight of exhaustion sapping her muscles eased. A few more minutes and she would have enough energy to bust past him if need be. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Someone in the new study recognized you as one of their lab techs.”

  “Someone is mistaken.” Or intentionally tying her to the tracks while making a bid for H’s trust. But who? Of everyone she’d seen during the interviews only two stood out in her mind, but neither had been familiar. Neither had seemed surprised to see her, or showed any signs of recognition.

  “That someone seems to be you. The claim was confirmed.”

  Covert attempts at undermining her cover would only hinder her success if she failed to respond correctly. H seemed willing to help with whatever was happening with her, but they needed some basis of trust to make real progress. The trouble was choosing the correct response.

  “I was never a lab tech for Eston White.” The best covers were based on truths. She would go with it. “Though it’s possible I would have been seen there.”

  He lunged back. “Excuse me?”

  “Until recently I worked for a division of Eston White. Whitestone.”

  The pulse in his throat kicked, but he remained still and controlled. “What changed?”

  He sounded guarded. Even more so than when she’d guessed his name. It wasn’t such a stretch he and his sister had been taken all those years ago by Eston White. Actually, it made perfect sense. It explained how he’d appeared with his credentials fully in place while lacking the evidence of having attended school.

  He would’ve been overseen by General Scott, though from what she’d heard, escaping the general was more impossible than breathing underwater without an air tank and mask.

  So how had H and Dana gotten free? What was the general plotting? What did H think about once again being targeted by Whitestone?

  “I saw the truth of how they did business. Saw their willingness—hell, their eagerness—to kill innocent men and women fighting for righteous convictions. Saw how I had been a tool in their manipulative belts, doing their bidding.”

  “I’m listening.”

  May as well tell it all. “Lori, another Whitestone operative, disappeared. A man was killed and another hospitalized. If that hadn’t been enough, Kami’s bravery to pose as an escort in a world she despised smashed me face-first into reality.”

  She’d been fighting for the wrong team.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Building a new life.”

  The steady thump thumping of the pulse in his throat was his only movement. His thoughts were private, not even hinted at on his face, but she suspected he was weighing her answer. Evaluating the risks of trusting her.

  Finally, after staring so long she nearly shifted in her seat, broadcasting her nerves, he nodded. “I can relate to that. I think.”

  She nodded once. “Are you going to help me prevent whatever happened to me from happening again?”

  He inclined his head. His stare remained intent. “If you want me to.”

  He held back. Not out of spite or meanness, but from what she recognized as one of his habits to figure things out independently.

  “I want you.” For more than help or because he was a better choice than her murderous ex-employer.

  She wanted him in bed. Wanted to get to know him as a man rather than a case. “Was our having sex the impetus to something shattering in my mind and nearly crushing me? And where am I?”

  “No.” His tone said he knew what had been the impetus though. “A hidden room in my lab. You haven’t gone crazy or been committed, and you can leave if you choose.”

  “Excellent.” She stood. Her legs remained steady.

  “Though, should you leave without hearing me out, you’ll find yourself right back in the throes of pain that brought you here.”

  Chapter Twelve

  First impressions had told her he didn’t waste words or lie or make idle threats. She’d been tr
ained to rely on those impressions and had evaded death several times thanks to them.

  Danger lurked in H, but nothing indicated he was an immediate threat. She sat again. “What is this room? Why am I in it?”

  “It’s a sort of sensory deprivation room. The only thing in here that can possibly absorb echoes of emotion is the mattress on the bed.”

  “So, emotional deprivation.” She pointed at the walls. “What about the padding?”

  “It’s coated with a reflecting agent. The only emotions you will experience in this room are your own until you’re ready to test yourself. You need to shore up your strength and defenses before venturing outside again.”

  “Defenses against what exactly?” Encroaching reality sat uncomfortably on her shoulders as she measured the implications of his words and their pertinence to her agonizing arrival at his door. Logic and intuition battled. Her fingertips chilled while her head tingled with heated pulses of activity. “Are you saying I’m an empath?”

  “Yes.”

  His voice remained perfectly modulated, giving no hint into his thoughts. He was studying empaths and now claimed she was one. Not that she was sure she bought into it, but he had to be at least a little excited if it was true. This couldn’t be something that happened every day.

  “I don’t…” She shook her head. “How is it possible I’ve lived my entire life without experiencing anything like I did today?” She rubbed her wrist over her watch. “It is still today, right? I haven’t missed more than a few hours?”

  “You’ve been asleep for almost six hours. Your pain backed off shortly after I brought you in here.”

  Vibrations of energy hummed along her skin. She had the urge to jump up and pace, but was oddly too wiped out. The rise and fall of her energy startled her. She scrubbed her hands over her face and placed her chin in her palms.

  “I could be getting sick. This morning doesn’t make me an empath.” She was arguing a losing debate, but logic demanded she couldn’t just wake up one morning with a sort of sixth sense. Not after thirty-plus years.

  “Ava.” H braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. His hands dangled loosely between his spread legs.

  She dropped her hands from her face and shook her head. “Yeah?”

  “You told me last night you sometimes experience the emotions of people around you.”

  “So what? I’m sympathetic.”

  “No. Sympathetic is when you can understand what someone may be feeling. You said you feel what they feel. That’s different.”

  Denial was futile. She had felt the emotions of other people. Since waking that morning, she’d felt more than anyone should. Except…

  Vibrant fireworks of light burst in her memory. The thrill of pain. Rage and power and aggression. Her skin shrank. The sensation of a thousand centipedes rushing across her body sent her into a mini convulsion.

  “Ava?”

  She scooted back on the cot and pulled her knees to her chest. She hadn’t woken with an ability. She’d been snapped out of a delusion.

  H moved to the cot and knelt before her. His brows scrunched together, transforming him from a stony doctor delivering a factual diagnosis to a concerned version of the man she’d had in her bed last night. “What’s the matter?”

  She scratched her neck and chest, but the crawling sensation of uncomfortable truths wasn’t subsiding.

  “Ava?”

  She met his ice-blue gaze and swallowed, trying to determine if her confusion was hers or his. His question suggested confusion, but somehow it seemed she was the only person in her head. Well, minus a ghost she’d thought she freed herself of. “If I’m an empath, why can’t I feel what you’re feeling?”

  “I know how to block myself.”

  “Are you an empath? Is that why you’re so certain I am?” And was that part of his connection to Channing and the diagnostic lenses?

  “Yes. I am. But my ability isn’t how I know you’re scared right now.” He wrapped his hands around her calves and pulled her legs away from her chest. “Or that maybe this isn’t a completely new sensation for you.”

  Her skin tingled with awareness of what his touch would do to her if his motives shifted from comfort. “I can’t talk about that.”

  He shook his head and moved to sit beside her on the bed. Once he’d settled his back against the wall, leaving a few inches between them, he took her hand in his and laced their fingers.

  Companionship. Compassion. Comfort.

  “You asked me about my name last night.”

  “Yes.” And she’d have pushed for a story if he hadn’t been so dug into the refusal to talk.

  “I haven’t thought of myself as Hermes since I was a young boy.” He waited for her gaze to meet his before smiling lightly. “And though you think H or Dr. H is too formal for some situations, I won’t allow anyone to call me Hermes because the memories tied to the name are too painful.”

  Sorrow gripped her throat and tears stung the backs of her eyes. He was trusting her with an insight into himself, and she wasn’t sure she could do the same.

  “I understand how debilitating memories can be. I understand the need to lock some of them away, but what you’ve locked away has broken lose. It won’t be rebottled.”

  “Why not? You seem to have kept your…past bottled up.”

  “I thought I had. You’re proving me wrong.”

  “How so? Why is your name painful?” Would his revelation really convince her to make her own?

  He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth—a sign of indecision he hadn’t displayed before. Clouds of turbulence moved across his vision. “Because my mother and father chose it. Because they’re dead. And because I was robbed of the opportunity to know them. When I learned how they had died and why…” He shook his head. “The only way I survived was to hold tight to the tangible things I had and let go of hopes and dreams that would never be realized.”

  His voice shook with remorse, but still she didn’t feel his emotions. Either she wasn’t empathic or he was shielding her from his inner turmoil. With the possibilities… His intensity and power made more sense than before.

  “I think I understand self-preservation.” She scooted back and leaned against the wall, mirroring him. Her shoulder brushed his arm. His warmth seeped into her. Settled her. Tempted her. Nudged her toward trust.

  “Right after I graduated high school I went to Greece to visit my grandparents.” Her fingers trembled and grew colder. Remembered hatred and the evil pleasure of inflicting pain on someone else rumbled in her gut like acidic bile eating her from the inside out. Those feelings had been in her, but they hadn’t been hers. “Long, horrid story short, I had a whirlwind romance and fell for a boy I thought loved me. We were married and within three months he’d hospitalized me twice.”

  “Ava.” H’s eyes flashed an electric blue. A blast of rage slapped at her and vanished in the next blink.

  She flinched and somehow deflected the brisk stab of violence. He’d said he could block himself, but for a second his control faltered. With it, his eyes had changed and though she’d thought it was the lighting when she’d watched his home, this was different. There was more to Dr. H.

  “What happened to him?”

  “That’s a good question.” And one she’d never cared too much about answering in detail. “I woke up one morning in the hospital. My grandfather told me I would be fine, and Constantine would never be a problem again.

  “I remember now. Grandfather’s righteous rage had raced through me, as real as Constantine’s but without the fear Constantine loved inflicting.” She paused, ordering her thoughts on the story she’d never retold.

  “Granddad had been enraged, but love tempered him.” Just as it had driven him when he confronted Constantine.

  “After moving back to the states, I went to change my name, to shed Sebastian and the reminders of it. Only no official records of the marriage could be found.” She’d never asked. She’d known. “G
randdad made certain Constantine’s terror wouldn’t follow me.”

  “And Constantine?”

  “Last I heard, he still lived in the countryside shack we shared. Unable to find a wife.”

  “Your injuries weren’t all physical.”

  “It seems not.” She hadn’t given it any thought because thinking about Constantine gave him power.

  She tried to separate herself, her mind, into compartments. She was retelling the story, not reliving it.

  The old miseries whispered uncomfortably in her joints and mended bones, but they were nothing like the realism of the first time. “Is it possible I had this ability then, that my feelings weren’t my own until his brutality overtook me? That I’ve blocked the ability without realizing it?”

  “Yeah. It’s self-preservation.” H brushed her hair back and smiled his sexy smile that changed his entire visage from serious to almost fun. Just looking at him smile had a sighing tripping out. “Like some amnesia patients, your mind instinctively protected you.”

  “Then why is it all surfacing now?” She knew the answer, but hearing him admit it was vital.

  Tyler, the tech guru on her team, had uncovered the past marriage and her married name during his background run, but they hadn’t mentioned anything else. If they knew about the abuse they were allowing the memory to stay her own. Until now. Until H.

  Damn if she didn’t expect honesty in return.

  “That bash to your head for starters. Your brain can only protect you against so much.”

  “How powerful are you?” She angled her head and studied him. “Do you simply get impressions of emotions, or are you stronger?”

  “We’re both stronger than that, Ava. You have the uncanny ability to shatter my control.” His mouth lifted ruefully on one side. “And that’s not easy.”

  “But what can you do?” She turned on the bed, sitting yoga style, to face him. “Why were you unconscious on the floor when I woke up yesterday? Why was Dana so insistent I had hurt you?”

  “She’s a little protective, and yesterday I gave her a big scare. Hell, I did it again today.” He placed his fingers along the edge of the bruise on Ava’s temple. His eyes grew heavy, sad and scared. “You were unconscious a dangerously long time yesterday. You had a brain bleed. I took care of it. Just as I minimized the swelling in this knot when I kissed you.”