Echo 8

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  “I know I’m not your favorite flavor, but you’ll just have to deal.”

  Jake smirked. “Twice in a row now. To what do I owe this sacrifice?”

  “She’s exhausted.” So was he, but he was reluctant to enlist the other agents to help with the transfers until they’d worked out the bugs. They couldn’t keep going like this, though.

  Jake must have been hungry, because he dropped the heckling and held his hand to the window. The fade closed his eyes, and his breaths came long and deep. Ross felt the tug of the current, and again he was surprised Tess hadn’t complained of the pain. It was nothing like the first time, but it wasn’t pleasant.

  After a moment Jake’s mouth curved down in a frown, and he said, “You really are an asshole. Could you think about something else?”

  “What?”

  Then he realized his thoughts had drifted to Tess—the sound of her laugh, the feel of her breath against his skin, the shape of her body where she’d pressed into his side.…

  “Christ, come on,” moaned Jake.

  “So you’re reading our minds now?”

  “I told you I could see things.” Jake glared at Ross. “Especially loud things.”

  Jake’s hand dropped away from the window, and he walked back to the bed.

  “You’re welcome,” Ross muttered, leaving him alone.

  He went back to Tess’s apartment to check on her, and so he’d be there when she woke in a panic about Jake. He’d spent maybe fifteen minutes scanning distractedly through email when she sat up, muttering, “Damn.”

  She swung her legs down, and he called, “Relax, Doctor.”

  She glanced up, startled.

  “Sorry.” He rose and crossed from the kitchen table to the couch. “I knew you’d be worried about Jake. He’s fine.”

  She ran her fingers through her mussed hair and stood up. “He needs a transfer.” Her voice was still hoarse from sleep. Creaky and sexy.

  “I took care of it.”

  Her gaze shifted back to his face. “Thank you. Again. You should get some sleep. I can take the next one.”

  “Let’s both get some sleep. Then we’ll go down together and train one of the other agents.”

  She smiled. “Yes. Good idea.”

  Her hands came together in front of her, fingers fidgeting. She was uncharacteristically nervous and unsure.

  “Are you okay, Doctor?”

  Her gaze moved around the room. “I guess I’m just finding it hard to say good night.” As soon as she’d said it she looked mortified.

  “Today has been pretty intense,” he replied, attempting to ease her discomfort. “I can stay if you want company.”

  Her hands relaxed at her sides. “How about some tea?”

  “Thanks,” he said, moving to the couch, “but I should probably dial back the caffeine.”

  “I have chamomile.” She walked to the kitchen and flipped on the kettle. “And peppermint.”

  “Peppermint sounds good.”

  She came back with the mugs and sat next to him on the couch. Their sneakers lined up on the edge of the antique trunk.

  “Are those standard issue, Agent McGinnis?”

  “Only the black ones.”

  “Ah, of course.”

  She blew steam from the top of her mug. “Were you surprised that Director Garcia denied your request for reassignment?”

  He picked up the teabag string, swirling it around in the water. “I was, yes.”

  “I’m less surprised after seeing your psi evaluation. Though I’m still not clear on what it was you thought you’d done wrong.”

  He cast her a sidelong glance, remembering what she’d accused him of earlier—“fishing around” in her head. He supposed it was fair enough.

  “It wasn’t so much what I’d done. I let something happen I shouldn’t have.”

  “You’re talking about Jake? The attack?”

  “Not only that.”

  She waited for him to continue. There were plenty of reasons not to be straight with her, but he’d tried that before. She was damn tough to evade.

  “Do you remember anything from the night of the attack?”

  “Not much besides the attack itself.”

  “Nothing from after, in my apartment?”

  Color rose to her cheeks, and her eyelashes fluttered. “No. Just the next morning.”

  “You woke once in the night, or seemed to. You…”

  The words froze in his throat. No turning back now.

  “You kissed me.”

  “I what?” She let out a nervous laugh. “Ross, I’m so sorry. I don’t remember that at all.”

  “No, I know. It’s not a problem, Doctor. I didn’t believe you were conscious at the time.”

  “I really … right on the mouth?”

  Now he laughed. “Yes.”

  “Jesus. What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I should have…”

  She rubbed her lips together, and she set down her tea. Folding her hands in her lap, she said, “Well, I’m sure it violated all kinds of stuffy, men-in-black regulations, but I think you’re being a little hard on yourself. Requesting reassignment because your assignment kissed you.”

  “Not because of the kiss.”

  “Then why?”

  He met her gaze. “Because I wasn’t sure what I would do if it happened again.”

  * * *

  Despite suspecting there was something like this behind Ross’s request, she was completely unprepared for his confession. She’d dropped her eyes, and the blood rushed to her face as she realized she was staring at his lips. It was colossally unfair she had no memory of what they felt like.

  “It’s a dangerous complication,” he continued, “and I—”

  She reached out, laying her palm against his chest. He jumped, but his hand moved to cover hers.

  “And you…?”

  “And I don’t know which end is up anymore.”

  “I can help with that,” she said softly, moving her face close to his. Dark eyelashes fluttered as his gaze dropped to her lips, and she felt a sympathetic fluttering in her abdomen. “This one.”

  His hands moved quickly, fingers in her hair, palms cradling her head, as he pulled her mouth to his.

  “God, Tess,” he murmured against her lips. He’d rarely spoken her name, and the sound of it left her tingling all over.

  She slid a hand up his arm and gripped his shoulder. His hands reached around her waist, and though she’d only meant to angle toward him, she found her bent knee slipping over his thigh until she sat across his lap, belly pressing into his ribs. His arms scooped around her, pulling her against him so he could taste her deeper.

  They struggled for breath, aching and arcing. She squeezed his hips between her knees, and her fingers sought the hem of his shirt. As she ran the palms of her hands over the hot skin of his back he moaned, breaking their kiss so he could nuzzle and nip her neck.

  His flesh quivered, alive under her stroking fingers, as he slid his hands over her hips and squeezed her thighs. He found some pressure point she didn’t even know she had, and her hips gave a spasm, causing her body to jerk against him.

  Groaning, Ross lifted and spun until somehow she lay beneath him. He inserted a hand between them, fingers struggling with the tiny buttons of the summery blouse she wore. She reached up and finished the job for him, letting the blouse fall open, before tugging his shirt over his head.

  He touched the lilac lace of her bra, pushing down the edge of one cup so he could thumb her nipple. Moaning, she arched against him, and he dipped his head to tease her with his tongue.

  “Should we be doing this?” she hissed, because someone had to.

  “No,” he said, working at the button of her jeans now.

  Her hands slid over his chest—rounded, firm, and statuesque. He tugged her jeans down to the point they hung up on her backside, and he slipped down and planted soft kisses on t
he sensitive flesh just inside her hip.

  “Oh Jesus, Ross.”

  “There’s something wrong with me,” he muttered.

  “Not from where I’m standing.”

  “You’re not standing.” He laughed, nibbling her hipbone.

  “You’re right. How did that happen?”

  “I can’t believe how much I want you,” he breathed. “The worst part is I feel like I’ve been given permission. I tried to—”

  “Let’s not bring anyone else into this room, Ross,” she said, raising his head and holding his face between her hands. “Just you and me. Okay?” There was a desperate edge to her voice, and she knew the admonishment was as much for herself as for him.

  “Okay,” he whispered, sitting up and pulling her into his arms. “Just you and me.”

  She untangled herself from the embrace and slipped the blouse off her shoulders. Ross unhooked her bra and let it fall. He rose from the couch, lifting her in his arms. The heat of his body warmed her chilled skin.

  He laid her on the bed and tugged her jeans free.

  “Hang on,” she said. She rolled onto one hip and gave the nightstand drawer handle a yank. Four foil packets jumped in the bottom of the drawer. Thank God. She grabbed one and examined it before tossing it aside and grabbing another one.

  “Expired,” she groaned. “How pathetic is that?”

  He took the packet from her hand, examining it. “These things take years to expire.”

  “Um, yeah,” she mumbled, embarrassed. “I don’t suppose you have any?”

  “I wasn’t exactly expecting—”

  “No, I know.” She gave a nervous chuckle. “I’m not sure how I would have felt about you having one in your pocket.”

  Ross nudged her back down onto the bed. He ducked his head and gently kissed her. “Wait here. I’ll go downstairs and check my bag. But first…”

  He bent over the nightstand and plucked out the two remaining foil squares. He glanced at the first and tossed it back in, but as he examined the last one a smile crept over his face. Her heart stuttered and she sat up.

  “Four more weeks,” he said, waggling the condom at her. “What do you say?”

  “I say get over here.”

  He crawled toward her and she pushed him onto his back, unbuttoning his jeans and tugging them off. She gulped as her gaze flowed over his abdomen to the triangle of musculature below, and the equipment at its base. She ran one finger down the length of taut, flushed skin, and he groaned and ripped open the condom. She helped him unroll it, fingers trembling.

  He flipped her onto her back, settling between her legs. She gasped at the sudden hardness against her mound of sensitive flesh.

  “How are you feeling about this, Doctor?”

  She threaded her fingers into his hair. “Impatient.”

  He smiled, eyelids lowering, and let his thumb brush over her nipple. She felt a responding flicker of heat between her legs and eased them farther apart. His hand slipped down, cupping her, middle finger dipping and exploring as she let out a soft moan.

  “Jesus, Tess,” he hissed.

  Heat flashed over her skin and she gave a self-conscious laugh. “I told you.”

  “I intended to tease you a little, but I don’t think I can take it.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and he pushed inside her with a single, convulsive thrust.

  “Ah!” she cried, clutching his shoulders.

  “Sorry.” He laughed. “Are we okay?”

  She smiled and pulled his mouth down to hers. “We’re okay.”

  Ross took a long, shuddering breath as he drew out slowly, then sank back into her as he exhaled. His lips trailed across her cheek and he murmured, “You’re so warm, Tess … so sweet.…” She contracted her muscles around him, and he gave a low whimper.

  She kissed his throat. “I feel safe with you.”

  She’d been thinking it all day, but it wasn’t something she’d expected to share with him. He drew back, his gaze locking with hers. He cradled her cheek and jaw in his hand, tilting her head back, kissing her so deeply he left no hollow, aching place unfilled.

  She began to rock—gently at first, then faster and harder as their rhythms merged. With each thrust Tess felt pierced by a million particles of light. The particles coalesced into waves, washing over her with surges of warm, tingling sensation.

  Finally a starburst of pleasure detonated low in her abdomen, and she felt him tense and vibrate above her. The white-hot flash of light filled her, consumed her, erased her.…

  * * *

  Tess clenched her legs and softer tissues around him as he exploded in every direction. Ross couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone off first, but he’d never felt so out of control with a woman. He was already planning how he’d make it up to her, but then came her answering cry of release, and his heart pulsed with relief.

  He opened his eyes, seeking her soft, swollen lips with his own.…

  And she vanished.

  FALLING

  * * *

  TO: Tess Caufield; Echo Task Force

  FROM: Christian Mai

  SUBJECT: Re: Urgent Update

  CLASSIFICATION: Classified

  While I acknowledge this is an exciting breakthrough, Dr. Caufield, I advise you and the rest of the task force to proceed with extreme caution. We must assume that your success was due at least in part to the agreeability of your subject. But, more critical, there is no way of knowing what the side effects of the energy transfer might be.

  In short, I well remember my fresh-from-university idealism (and hubris, at least in my own case). But consider the possibility you may be risking your own life to prolong his.

  —Mai

  Vietnam National University, College of Natural Science

  * * *

  TORN FROM the warmth and shelter of Ross’s arms, Tess’s naked body rocketed down a muddy hillside.

  She scrambled for a handhold—anything to slow her descent—but the scrubby bits of vegetation she caught hold of broke off or slipped through her fingers. Both the air and the mud were frigid, and the sticks and stones that littered the hillside raked at her bare skin.

  At the bottom of the hill she slammed to a halt, headfirst, against a half-submerged tree trunk. Crying out in pain and panic, choking on acrid air, she sat up and cleared the hair that had plastered over her eyes.

  Frantically she surveyed her surroundings, but everything more than a few yards away was cloaked in a gray haze. She saw a couple of large, pulsing orange smudges off in the distance—fires? It would help explain the low visibility and stinking air.

  “Ross?” she called, voice raw with fear.

  She strained to muffle her coughing so she could listen for an answering cry. But there was nothing beyond the sound of her own short, frosty breaths. She called again, but still nothing.

  Was it possible this was a dream? No dream had ever been so real, or so painful. She touched her hand to her forehead and examined the blood that smeared her already numb fingers.

  Quaking with cold, she drew her knees to her chest. Her eyes fell on the tree trunk in front of her, and she noticed it was coated with a layer of frost. She would die of exposure—soon—if she didn’t get someplace warm.

  Get to the fire! Survival instinct asserted itself over the discomfort in her body.

  Again she scanned the murk, fixing on the largest of the pulsing lights. She hooked an arm around the tree trunk and levered herself out of the muck, ignoring the bite of the bark against her naked flesh. She took a couple of unsteady steps—and then squealed as something wriggled out from under her foot. As she leapt away from the wriggling thing, her back foot slipped and she pitched facefirst into the soft mud.

  “Fuck!” she cried, choking on a sob. “Where am I? Jake?”

  This had something to do with him—with the transfers. It had to. But was it real?

  Please don’t let it be real.


  She clambered along on her hands and knees and found she made better progress. But with her face inches from the ground she could see—and smell—all the things embedded in the muck. Dead things. Putrefied frogs, mice, even a squirrel. Her arms and legs were so cold they were like clubs, and she couldn’t help brushing against the little carcasses as she crawled.

  Another sob heaved out of her, and again she called Ross’s name.

  She felt the brush of a sleek, fur-covered body as it scampered along a bit of wood between her arms. She reared up on her knees with a shout. A chorus of squeaks broke through the silence, and her head whipped around.

  The flotsam around her was populated with little bodies—rats, living ones—sniffing at the air and watching her.

  She thrashed sideways and struck something hard. Sensation in her fingers was long gone, but she crab-crawled backward over the solid surface. A rock, she thought at first—no, a slab of concrete. As she craned her neck to look behind her, her hands struck open air and she pitched backward, tumbling off an abrupt edge.

  She plunged, weightless, through the choking atmosphere.

  * * *

  Ross gave a cry of shock and confusion.

  He ran his hand over the sheet, still warm, still bearing the impression of her body. “Tess!”

  His mind flailed. He sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. He looked around. Her apartment. He’d touched and tasted her. He could still smell her on his skin. He hadn’t fallen asleep and dreamed the whole thing.

  He jumped to his feet, discarded the condom, and pulled on his jeans. His shoulder holster hung over the back of a chair, and he snatched up the Glock.

  What the hell are you going to shoot?

  He stood with the length of the barrel pressed against his forehead, rubbing his thumbs over the grip. Think think THINK.

  It must have something to do with Jake—something to do with last night’s attack, or with the transfers. The fade had done something to her. Changed her somehow. Was it possible she was downstairs with him now?

  She fucking vanished.

  A desperate moan clawed its way out of his throat. He sank to his knees, her voice echoing in his head. I feel safe with you.