I’d prepared. Figured it was probably a bedroom, and there might be some x-rated pics of Pierce and Miz Stalker. Just friends or not, the man came with hefty dose of testosterone and magically skilled hands. Plus they were stuck together, forty-two thousand feet in the air, in a contained space without much to do, large screen television aside. And didn’t super-spies live on the edge, not knowing when that laser beam would seek them out and shine the red dot of death on their foreheads? Or chest? Whatever, it was a prime scenario for some steamy sex.
But the images weren’t of either Pierce or Miz Stalker. I jerked my hand away from the doorknob, dragged in a shaky breath, and stared at my fingertips.
Clear your mind, Everly. Maybe your ESP is broken. It could happen. Sort of like when it disappeared ’cause you were all emotional and didn’t want to see stuff. Give it a chance to fix itself.
I clenched my fists, pushing them hard against my abdomen. One breath. Two. Time to give it another shot. And damn, but the same image popped up, clear and undeniable. A second shock wave rattled my bones. Millie? Seriously?
She’d opened the door with an expectant smile on her face. A trickle of anxiety crept along my spine, and trapped the breath in my lungs. Nope. I hadn’t been ready for that one. There’d be answers inside, so why did I hesitate? Because I’d never really snooped into Millie and Harlan’s life before, and my muscles softened, refusing to do my bidding. They’d been married forever but never seemed to age. And they’d always been there during my childhood, quiet, barely taking up space. Still, I counted on them to fill the gaps my parents left when they’d had to leave me and disappear into foreign lands, sometimes for weeks at a time. Millie and Harlan were my soft spot. Like a baby’s first giggle, or when a puppy rubbed its nose in my neck and made those adorable snorting noises. Places I didn’t want to desecrate with my snooping.
I shook my head, tossing the touchy-feely emotions aside. If there was any hope of finding them, I had to know what went on in that bedroom. Tawdry. And I’m not a peeping Thomasina. Sure, I like to satisfy my curiosity more than most, but peering into the love life of people I respected? Not my thing, and this situation was potentially loaded with way too much information.
She could be planning on using the bedroom for nothing more than a nap, Everly.
Not with that smile, she wasn’t.
Oh, damn. I was having a conversation with myself. Time to put on my big girl panties and woman up to the task at hand.
I stepped into the bedroom.
A hint of jasmine clung to the air. I inhaled, drinking in the peacefulness of it before I drifted into my memories. When I spent the weekend at my childhood home, Millie often had a huge bouquet of jasmine on the coffee table and welcomed me with a hug. Harlan had grown jasmine in the garden just for her, and the memories were vivid enough that I smiled, clutching at them. The need to find Millie and Harlan, to keep them safe, pushed me into the bedroom.
And then the walls started talking to me.
A shiver took over my muscles, and panic had me quick-stepping back. Wall-talking hadn’t happened to me for more than a year. Not since I’d been checking out the chapel at the Hawaiian Hilton for Annie’s wedding. Not since visiting my grandmother’s homestead and discovering the images she’d left for me.
But in both of those instances, I’d touched the walls. It had been my decision to hear what they had to share, and I’d asked for information.
Here, in this flying penthouse, I hadn’t asked for anything, and I didn’t like the walls taking over my mind one bit. That hadn’t happened since the very first time, when Annie and I had broken into a murder victim’s house. Back when I first met Mitch, when his friend Tony had been killed.
A chill blossomed behind my breastbone. Fear knotted, leaving me raw and questioning my sanity. You’d think I’d be used to it, what with having ESP fingers most of my life, but no.
This was different. Voices rustling in the back of my mind like a million tiny bugs struggling to find purchase in my brain cells. It was creepy. Maybe I could stop it if I touched the walls. They were a luscious shade of peach, an absurdly sane color that shouldn’t be harboring thoughts, words.
I sucked it up, trying to breathe some air into my stressed lungs, then stepped back into the bedroom, and slapped my palm against the wall. A rush of words poured into my mind, none of them distinguishable, just a blur of vocabulary that sent another wave of shivers through me.
Control, Everly. Get control of this.
I blocked out the hissing sound, and focused on what I needed to know. “Who was in this room that you want me to know about?” I asked, hoping that a direct question, the sound of my voice would rein in the wall’s many stored sentences, and condense them into a precise understandable communication.
Not this time.
I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing the heels of my hands hard against my scalp. The background noise quieted some, so I made my way to the built-in dresser and ran my hands over the surface. And there was Millie, looking into the gold-framed mirror atop the dresser. Her gaze was thoughtful, almost as though she knew I’d eventually be there to see what she had to show me. And then she turned away to face the bed where Harlan sat, propped against the headboard. The covers were clumped around his waist, and he was bare-chested and smiling.
Embarrassment flooded me, leaving enough heat behind to cause a rash. I slammed my eyes closed in a futile attempt to burn the image from my brain. I did not want to know anything about Millie and Harlan like that. Ev-ver.
And I fled—ran headlong into the main cabin, straight through to the galley where I yanked a Diet Coke from the refrigerator, popped the top, and chugged several swallows. The bubbles burning my throat as I swallowed were a welcome distraction from the bedroom scene of my surrogate grandparents.
I slid my butt along the metal cabinets until I hit the floor. Laughter bubbled from deep in my belly and poured into the empty galley. How silly was I? Of course Millie and Harlan had a sex life, and apparently an active one. More power to them, but surely there wasn’t any reason I had to witness their intimate moments. Maybe it was a good thing this trip across the country and a good part of the Pacific Ocean took a few hours. It’d take me that long to figure out what the hell was going on here, especially if I had to wade through the, um, personal stuff.
It didn’t take long for me to gather my thoughts and start working on a plan to tackle the bedroom. I was positive that Millie had left the images there, imbedded in the walls, for me to find. According to my grandfather, she’d been best friends with my grandmother. So, they’d probably all studied Huna with the same Hawaiian shaman, and had similar psychic skills. The stuff I’d been born into.
The answer to why Pierce had abducted me was in that room. I just had to avoid the personal stuff, get to the crux of the psychic intel, and apply whatever I learned to figure out why he’d kidnapped me, and how best to locate Millie and Harlan.
Had Pierce abducted them, too? Was this some kind of setup?
FIVE
Setup or not, I had work to do. I scrambled to my feet, tossed my empty soda can into the trash, and scanned the galley. A silver pump container on the edge of the sink looked promising as a source of hand soap. I squirted some into my palm, and the scent of almonds filled the compact space, successfully obliterating the earlier remnants of marinara sauce. Probably a good thing since I hadn’t found any leftovers in the fridge, and I was still hungry.
I washed my hands like an obsessive-compulsive cartoon character. Couldn’t seem to stop, but the mindless activity gave me a chance to whip up a plan for searching the plane. The hand washing had turned into a Lady Macbeth moment. Not so much neurotic as a fortuitous opportunity that would miraculously reset my fingertips and give me a fresh start on searching the bedroom—without lingering images of Harlan and Millie’s private life.
I worked my way to the back of the cabin, clutching chair backs because the plane kept hitting pockets of turbul
ence. Standing at the entrance to the bedroom, I took time to absorb the ambiance, and to let the hushed whispers that lingered in the walls wash over me. Since I wasn’t fighting them like a crazy person, they seemed less frenzied. Easier to understand. It’s amazing how a Diet Coke had the power to calm me down.
There were two areas in the bedroom that I hadn’t touched besides the bed, and that was out of bounds. A comfy-looking, deep-cushioned wingback chair sat in one corner of the room. The fabric was a deeper shade of peach than the walls, and someone had carelessly tossed an inviting, nubby afghan over the back. It was designed to cuddle into for a good read or maybe to watch a movie, and there was a flat screen monitor attached to the opposite wall—probably for just that purpose. No telling what secrets that chair would share with my fingertips. My hands itched with the possibility of potential clues.
The other thing I hadn’t checked was the closet. I headed there first, slid the door open, and picked up a few flickering images of Pierce and Miz Stalker. Nothing to spark my radar. And then I looked, really looked, at the contents. A tingle worked its way through my veins. Along one wall was an arsenal, an assortment of weapons I didn’t recognize, but why would I? I’d spent hours at the firing range—first with my Kimber, and more recently with a Sig .380, but that was it as far as my proficiency went.
A couple Kevlar vests hung on hooks, along with a black windbreaker, and an empty duffle bag. The duffle had to be the safest thing for me to touch. The weapons would hit my internal monitor with a barrage of ugly, and possibly bloody, images. And the vests were equally risky.
I rubbed my hands together, and did a minute of deep breathing. Considering the contents of the closet, that duffle could hold some knock-me-on-my-ass secrets, and I wanted to be prepared.
It had seen some use, obvious in the heavily stained khaki canvas, and zippered pockets with worn edges. I braced my back against the doorjamb and brushed my fingers over the fabric. The first image that popped up was of her hand, at least I assumed it was an appendage that had belonged to my DB. Square, unpolished fingernails, capable and strong fingers, but shorter than I would have thought. Her face was more delicate, and didn’t seem to go with the hand I was looking at, but the next image confirmed my guess. She leaned over when she secured the bag on the hook, and I got a clear view of her face. Definitely the same woman.
I slid the duffle out of the closet and laid it out on the floor. Going for the smaller side pocket first, I was rewarded with nothing but a dozen or so spheres of chocolate mint truffles wrapped in foil. They happened to be one of my favorites, so maybe she wasn’t all bad. I popped one in my mouth. No sense wasting them.
Moving on to the main compartment, I gingerly squeezed the zipper pull between the pads of my thumb and index finger. It was cold against my skin, and the sound of the teeth opening sent a shiver over my shoulders. I ran my hand along the inside and a series of images flowed through my head; Miz Stalker packing her weapons, adding a change of clothes, some ammo, and finally a photograph of Millie and Harlan. An old photo. They appeared to be in their late forties, so it must have been taken when they first went to work for my parents.
Recycled air swirled down my throat, leaving the bitter taste of chaos behind. Pierce had known about my childhood home long before the explosion, so it made sense that he could have met Millie and Harlan, maybe even made it a point to meet them. And maybe he shared that info with Miz DB Stalker, but that didn’t explain the picture. Photographs didn’t happen in my family. It was one thing my parents, James and Loyria Gray, were adamant about. No pictures of them, of me, and certainly not of our gardener and…butler. I couldn’t really call Millie a cleaning lady, because she took care of everything around the house. And me. She’d always taken care of me in her own distant sort of way. I understood, knew she and Harlan kept their distance out of respect for my relationship with my parents. Millie especially never tried to step into the role of mother, and I appreciated her for it.
My fingers shook.
“Hey, Belisama.” The Irish in his voice was heavy, maybe with regret.
I whirled to face him, a jumble of nerves spinning through me. “Enough with the sneaking up on me, Pierce. It’s bad enough that you’ve kidnapped me, and know all kinds of stuff about the agent who was killed on my property, and about Millie and Harlan, without adding scaring the freaking bejeezus out of me to your list of crimes.”
He rested his shoulder against the doorjamb, hip cocked. “Only know one way to move. You’re not making much sense, but I gotta guess your fingers have been busy.”
Two could play at this. “They only know one way to touch,” I said with a hint of smug in my voice.
Pierce hooked his thumb toward the main cabin. “Need to talk.”
I followed. Not because I was shooting for most obedient kidnap-ee of the year, but because the only other time Pierce had initiated a discussion, it had been to tell me about my mother being a spy. That talk had been loaded with information that changed my life, so I wasn’t about to miss any conversation that Mr. Silent initiated.
He pointed to two chairs flanking a round table, then went into the galley. Lifting the coffeepot off the warming plate, he swirled the dregs and wrinkled his nose. The smell of stale coffee, bordering on burnt, drifted through the cabin.
“Soft drink okay with you?” he asked, rinsing out the pot.
I probably shouldn’t have had more caffeine, but I nodded because I wanted something to hang on to. I plopped into one of the chairs Pierce indicated, then unlaced my sneakers and kicked them off. We still had hours left in the air before we reached Hawaii, and I wanted to be comfortable. Curling into the chair, I covered myself with a heavy cotton blanket that had been neatly folded on a shelf next to the chair. The good news: no images. Some might call crawling behind a blanket hiding, and they would probably be right. But there was no telling what kind of information Pierce was gonna hit me with, and experience had me prepping for the worst.
Turbulence sent the plane into a sharp, momentary drop just as he stepped out of the galley, and he lurched toward me with two cans of soda. One Diet Coke and one regular. He sat, balancing on the edge of his chair, and slid the diet across the table toward me. “Figured you’d want something to hold on to.”
Well, damn. I squirmed. How’d he get to know me so well? Still, I couldn’t stop clutching the cold can, the chill seeping into my fingers. Carefully, I let my fingertips rest on the metal and was rewarded with a smudgy image of Nameless stocking the fridge. Unsure whether to drink or not, I eyed Pierce over the rim of the can. “How bad is it?”
“Just got word that Millie’s been located.” His words held a tinge of regret.
Pierce didn’t do regret. Not that I’d ever seen, and a trickle of fear vibrated along my spine. Damn, but I hated when his voice hinted at bad news. “Okay.” I set the can of Diet Coke on the table. Under the circumstances, it was probably best not to hold anything I might drop.
“Accident. Car fire. She’s in the Straub Hospital burn unit.” He tipped his can of soda up and swallowed.
Several long seconds later an ache exploded in my chest. Millie? Burned? I twisted the blanket in my fingers. “I repeat, how bad?”
“She’s out of danger, but they’re keeping her medicated. We’ll hit the hospital first, see if you can pick up anything from her.”
“Uh-huh.” I dropped the blanket and grabbed the soda can, rolling it between my palms, craving the reality of the cold condensation on my skin. “What’s the relationship between my parents’ house burning to a crisp and Millie…?”
“Don’t know yet.” A couple bumps of turbulence bounced Pierce back in his seat. “We have to locate Harlan. Millie’s safe in the burn unit, since the staff there are trained to be on the high end of observant.”
It was the word safe that had my brain going fuzzy. “Why’d they run, Pierce? Because that’s what happened, right? Somehow they knew the house was going to blow and got out.”
&
nbsp; “They had warning.” His jaw and shoulders stiffened, and his fingers flexed around the Coke can.
It didn’t take much for me to interpret the change in his body language, not with the sadness darkening his eyes. “Your stalker lady with the dimples delivered the in-person warning, right? That’s why there was a picture of Harlan and Millie in her duffle.”
He nodded, the movement measured and tight. Then he squinted at me. “Stalker?”
“She was a thief, stalking my plants and taking samples of them.”
He opened his mouth, but I didn’t give him a chance to respond, just plowed through. “And you loaded Millie and Harlan on this flying penthouse.”
Betrayal buzzed in the back of my brain. Pierce had never lied to me before. Skirted the truth, maybe, but never flat-out lied. It was like he’d punched a hole in our friendship, and all the respect and trust leaked out, suffocating me. I had to ask. “So why did you pretend you didn’t know where they were? Why fake a need for my fingers?”
His eyes blazed with blue fury. “Not lies. Millie and Harlan slipped off the radar after I left them with Kahuna Aukele.”
It made sense. I blew out a shaky breath. “My grandfather would, of course, help them disappear. He’s good at that, the Kahuna.”
“Better than any agent I’ve known, including me and A.J.”
I brought the Diet Coke to my mouth and drank, letting the bubbles rest on my tongue before I swallowed. The tingle was somehow reassuring, and helped me feel close to Annie since we both drank way too much of the stuff. “Speaking of Annie, that’s where you’re taking me, right? To her house?”
Pierce’s gaze drifted toward the window. “Eventually. Gotta find Harlan and your grandfather first.”
And there it was again, the crinkle of the soda can as his fingers tightened around it. Pierce watched me with a sneaky, sideways look. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear a sudden fogginess.
Touch of Betrayal, A Page 4