Time Raiders: The Seeker

by Lindsay McKenna

  For once, Jake was confiding in her. What had changed? Her mind whirled with questions.

  “Okay, you were being verbally abused by your father. How often?”

  Looking up, Jake met and held her gaze. “I remember it happening a lot until I was around ten years old. I couldn’t take his embarrassing me, so I stopped talking about anything that would make me a target.”

  “I understand,” Delia murmured. “He shamed you into not acknowledging your real feelings. So you closed down.”

  “Hey, what did I know? I was just a kid,” he confessed, straightening and running his hands down his thighs. He hoped Delia realized how personal this conversation was becoming. Searching her pensive features, Jake wondered what she was thinking. Even though he could read minds, he would never try to penetrate Delia’s thoughts without her permission. Clearly, she was struggling to understand. He could see wariness in her golden eyes.

  “My parents never shut me down like your father did you.”

  “Maybe I wasn’t like most kids, Delia. Maybe all parents tell their kid to stop crying or feeling bad.”

  “No, good parents want their children to own their feelings. That is positive. You can share your emotions, be vulnerable and not be afraid of intimacy, then.”

  “I don’t know that…”

  “What did you do when he made fun of you?”

  “I had books to read or a computer to play with. My parents were well off as professors. I didn’t want for anything material.”

  Unfolding her arms, Delia allowed them to fall to her sides as she walked closer. “No child does well when they can’t be themselves, Jake,” she said. “I don’t pretend to be a psychotherapist, but clearly, his constant tirades caused you to lock yourself up.”

  “I never thought about it,” he grumbled. “Millions of kids get parents who yell at them.”

  “Well,” Delia said a little more softly, “children respond differently given their personality and circumstances, Jake. Maybe you’re really a marshmallow inside and that experience devastated you.”

  “I’ve never been a marshmallow!” he retorted. “My father wanted me to be a real man.”

  She saw surprise mirrored on his face. “I wasn’t criticizing you, Jake. Relax. It was a compliment.” Now she understood and the anger she felt toward Jake’s father was red-hot. He harmed his son with verbal abuse. The professor might not have laid a hand on his son, but the damage was the same.

  “Men aren’t built that way.”

  “You have a heart just like I do. And you have the right to feel all your emotions!” She gave him a tender look.

  Watching him frown, Delia saw his aura begin to swirl with reddish-brown ribbons of color. That meant he was getting angry and defensive. Well, what was new? Why wasn’t she learning the lesson in all of this—that Jake would never go there. His father had done a good job.

  Scowling, Jake rubbed his chest. His heart was pounding hard and he tried to remain immune to Delia’s impassioned argument. Women never played fair; they always tried to hook you with their emotional ploys, which had nothing to do with logic and reason. So why was he feeling as if his heart was being squeezed in his chest? Why did he feel such desperation?

  Watching Delia pace the room again, Jake hated admitting he didn’t want to keep pushing her away. But he was doing so, as always. Her expression was one of sympathy mixed with frustration.

  Heading for the door to her own room, she picked up her cloak from the couch, where he was sitting. “I’ve got things to do,” she muttered, “before tonight’s event. I’m leaving, Jake.”

  “Wait!” He stood up as she reached the doorway.

  “What?” Delia said, holding his confused gaze. She saw the colors in his aura changing, the angry red hue dissipating. In its place, fuchsia tones began swirling around his heart. She’d never seen that before. Usually, when she noted that in people’s auras, it meant they were falling in love.

  Discounting that thought immediately, Delia tried to harden her resolve. She saw Jake rub his strong chin with impatience.

  “Doesn’t—” He stopped abruptly and frowned. Looking down at his boots, which were damp with melted frost after their walk around the grounds, he tried to think. Damn it, when Delia was near, his well-constructed, logical world shattered. All he could ever do around this woman warrior was become an over-emotional fool whose words always seemed to come flying out of his mouth the wrong way. “Doesn’t the fact that I opened up to you just now mean anything? I was trying, Del.”

  “Yes, you did open up for a split second,” she breathed gently. “And when we tried to talk about it, you just got defensive like you always do. I’m tired of that game, Jake. Tired to my soul. Right now, I don’t have the emotional energy to put up with it.”

  His heart contracted with pain. Jake felt as if Delia had just pierced him in the chest with the blade she carried at her side. Searching her stubborn features, he rasped, “Well, it was a start, Del.” Why the hell was he trying to convince her to stay? Obviously, she didn’t want anything to do with him, whether he opened up or not.

  “I’m older and wiser, Jake. It took me two years to figure out that you wanted me only on your terms. That’s not a relationship. I want a man who I can open up to, spill my heart to if I feel like it. Someone who will listen without interrupting me. Just listen, and not immediately try to fix whatever problem I’m telling him about.” She saw Jake give her a helpless look, one of the few she’d ever seen from him. It touched her as nothing else had except that hot, seductive kiss out in the hall yesterday.

  “I don’t need a fix-it guy,” Delia whispered, her voice off-key. “I need a man who loves me, wants to listen to me, cares enough to sit, hold me and just let me get something out of my system. I don’t need a civil engineer coming in with a blueprint, to fix how I’m feeling at that moment. Many times we have to just muddle through an emotion, Jake. You seem so unwilling to even admit to feelings, or to go where another person needs you to be for them. In the past, when I would open up, cry or tell you how I felt, you always withdrew from me emotionally. When I wanted you to hold me, you didn’t seem to have a clue what I needed. Ever. I had to ask you to put your arms around me and hold me. And even then, you weren’t relaxed. You were stiff and uncomfortable, as if you didn’t know how to hold someone who was hurting.”

  Standing, Jake felt her heated words slam into him, like one blow after another. His brows dipped and he felt anger along with desperation. His heart ached. He was hurting from Delia’s emotional plea. Again, automatically, he rubbed his chest, unable to look at her for a moment as he scrambled through the haze of his roiling feelings.

  “Maybe, Del, I don’t recognize how or when to hold you when you’re hurting.”

  Shock rooted her to the spot as Delia heard Jake’s low, emotional admission. Her heart contracted with pain—for both of them. It made sense. If Jake had been shot down as a child, he wouldn’t know.

  “I need to remember what happened to you.”

  “What do you mean?” Jake winced inwardly. He’d sounded defensive, and saw Delia’s reaction to his growling tone. She’d instantly retreated, but then, stopped and looked thoughtful, not angry.

  “There’s two people involved here, Jake. Now that I know why you closed up I have to stop reacting to the ‘old’ you. I can see you’re trying. And I’m going to try to change my old habit patterns toward you.”

  Rubbing his jaw, Jake met her searching gaze filled with sincerity. He saw the set of her mouth soften. That take-no-prisoners look in her shadowed eyes disappeared. The sense of being trapped by her reaction dissolved. “We’re a good team, you and I,” he began in a hoarse, emotional voice. “If we can both try…”

  Nodding, Delia whispered, “Then there’s hope, Jake.”

  “It’s not going to be easy,” he warned.

  “Anything worth having is always challenging,” she said. Reaching out, she touched his jaw. “We’ve made progress. It’s
enough for tonight. We need to get to sleep.”

  As the door shut quietly behind her, Jake realized he’d made important progress. Turning away, he ran his fingers through his hair and cursed. Opening up to Del had somehow worked. Jake felt good and hope filled his heart. He picked up his cloak, wanting to go outside to feel his way through this amazing development. He would head out and tour the grounds again. He needed fresh air to think.

  As Jake drew on the cloak and fastened it with a brass pin, what he felt in his heart for Delia nearly overwhelmed him.

  No longer trapped or confused, he pulled open the door and walked out. He was drawn to a woman who refused to give up on him. If that wasn’t love, what was?

  Hours later, Delia once again walked the perimeter of the property with Jake. They had to finish their assessment for security purposes. Here, they were free to talk quietly, for there were no slaves around to listen.

  “Are Cleopatra and her son invited to this party?” Jake asked, hoping to find a safe topic with her.

  Delia said, “No, not a chance.”

  “Servilia is like a green-eyed monster about Caesar bringing his son here to Rome,” Jake murmured. They halted beside the seven-foot-high wall. Jake could hear the creak of wagons going by on the street outside, the clip-clop of horses as they passed, as well as the chatter of people going about their errands.

  Looking up, Delia saw the February sky was a pale blue now, with a few clouds floating past. The temperature had finally risen above freezing, but she was still glad for the cape wrapped around her body, and for the rabbit-fur lining in her boots that kept her feet warm. “Can we judge whether Caesar is friend or foe to Servilia, then?”

  “Not yet,” Jake muttered. As they walked down the gravel path parallel to the street, he looked at all the thick bushes and olive trees growing near the wall. “This is a great place for robbers to hide,” he noted, pointing at the greenery.

  “Yeah, lots of hidey-holes,” Delia agreed. She surveyed the area, finding plenty of such spots. “Do you think Romans ever had a problem with robbers or groups of men scaling such walls and hiding inside to rob homeowners?”

  “I don’t think it was a huge problem,” Jake murmured, eyeing the thick vegetation. “But the possibility makes our job harder. Everyone who is anyone in Rome will be at this shindig tonight.”

  “And what if Cleopatra was behind that attack on Servilia?” Delia said under her breath as they rounded the corner. There was about eight feet of space between the domus and the stucco wall. A narrow path had been worn by the gardeners over the years through the thick greenery. It was an ideal place for an attack.

  “Wish I could remain close to Servilia during the party,” Jake said, critically examining the situation. He halted about halfway to the rear of the house, checking to make sure they were alone. “It would be a perfect time to try and read her mind.”

  Delia turned and gazed up at him. How handsome Jake was as a Greek mercenary. Her body responded heatedly to the smoldering look he was giving her. But their earlier discussion made her tentative and she stepped back. “Do you think Caesar will buy Servilia’s argument about the attack? That Cleopatra designed it?”

  Shaking his head, Jake said, “Why would he? He’s in love with that woman.” And then his smile grew. “Love makes us blind.”

  That smoky smile reminded Delia that Jake had romance on his mind. He wasn’t trying to penetrate her thoughts, but she could see the change in his aura, from blue tones to rosy ones. Anytime someone had amorous thoughts or feelings, their aura turned beautiful shades of pink. As his gaze dropped to her lips, she felt them tingle. Unhappy with her body’s response, Delia turned and walked to the rear of the property.

  Jake followed. If Delia only realized that her gorgeous golden eyes gave her away, so he knew she was still drawn to him, she’d probably shriek in disgust. Hands clasped behind his back, he dutifully followed her, enjoying the feminine sway of her hips despite the bulky cloak she wore. He told himself to be patient, that he would eventually get Delia back into his arms—and his bed. But first, they had a banquet to get through, and they had to be on guard.

  His intuition told him that things would go wrong tonight.

  Chapter 9

  T orbar scowled as he walked behind General Marcus Brutus at Servilia’s domus. The place was crowded with powerful citizens of Rome, most gathered in the atrium and tablinum, where food, wine and conversation were ongoing. What he saw he didn’t like. As a Navigator and Centaurian, he possessed powerful clairvoyant skills, among them the ability to see auras. So what was he seeing now?

  Standing attentively near General Brutus, who was talking to Senator Cato, Torbar maintained his obsequious demeanor, yet raised his head just enough to study the two mercenary soldiers on either side of Servilia, who was chatting animatedly with Julius Caesar. For whatever reason, their auras were much different in color, strength and content than those of the rest of the humanoids. Keeping in check his disgust over their primitive level of development, Torbar switched completely to his clairvoyant facilities.

  The woman dressed in Greek armor was alert, her face emotionless, her gaze constantly roving about the huge atrium. Neither the occasion nor the February dusk could hide the fact she was a warrior in all respects. What attracted Torbar was her aura. The egg-shaped cloud of energy around her had silver shining in the outer layers. No one else present, with the exception of the other Greek soldier, exhibited this phenomenon. Silver indicated advancement. Brows dipping, Torbar tried to penetrate the contents of her mind to find out just who she was.

  Instantly, his efforts were rebuffed. The energy probe he’d sent slammed back at him with the same power he’d sent it out with. Rubbing his brow where an ache began, Torbar cursed silently. Yes, it was obvious she had walls up to protect herself from anyone telepathically trying to read her mind. And she was strong enough to stop a Navigator.

  That wasn’t good at all.

  Torbar was shocked by her resistance to his probe. Since when could a mere Earthling stop a mighty Navigator in any way?

  Switching his attention to the male soldier, whose aura also shone with silver, he sent another mental probe. The pain in Torbar’s head increased substantially. Rejected again.

  He had to be careful, Torbar decided. The silver indicated that both Greeks had psychic capabilities, but he didn’t know what skills they had. And stupidly, he hadn’t cloaked his aura. Instantly, he did so, but maybe it was too late. He saw the Greek woman soldier studying him intently from across the atrium, her gaze narrowed speculatively, then Torbar felt the energy of her assessment.

  Cursing softly, he moved to the other side of General Brutus to get out of her sight. What had she seen? Did she know he was a Navigator? Torbar had to maintain his disguise so he could track down the time jumper and hopefully retrieve the missing headband.

  Rubbing his brow and hovering behind the short, powerful general, who was dressed in a white toga with purple edging, Torbar concealed himself from the Greeks’ gaze. His mind whirled with possibilities. He knew Kentar suspected that the Galactic Council sent emissaries to Earth from time to time. So had the Centaurians, though now they were barred from doing so by law. They had been caught stealing those female Earthlings long ago and were still paying a heavy price for it. They had to be sneaky during their illicit activities.

  Pleiadians had been allowed to come to Earth as punishment for Centaurians breaking the galactic noninterference directive. He was sure the Pleiadians came joyously, for the females of this species possessed Navigator genes and were fully capable, if trained properly, of running the organic spaceships that previously only Centaurians could operate.

  Racking his brain, Torbar systematically reviewed all the aura types known in the galaxy. None exactly matched the two Greeks standing in the atrium with him. So who were they? If they were alien, which he felt they were, were they a new, unknown species? The woman soldier was looking around the room once more. Torbar coul
d detect the golden threads of energy she was sending out as she scanned the group. She obviously had felt his intrusion into her mind. Did she know what he’d done?

  Cloaked as he was now, she would never find him. He would appear to be a lowly scribe to an important Roman general, nothing more. Smiling secretively, Torbar felt smug that no one in this gathering had the inherited powers and skills that a Centaurian Navigator possessed.

  But who were these two?

  Keeping her panic deep inside her, Delia felt the assault upon her thoughts by someone who knew what he was doing. And instinctively, she followed the energy pulse back to the person who’d tried to read her mind without her permission. She saw a dark-haired, brown-eyed male, very thin and holding tablets in one hand. He was standing beside General Brutus. Delia didn’t know what to make of the attempted intrusion, so she checked his aura. That’s when she was truly shocked. The scribe’s energy field possessed a lot of bright red hues, more than anyone else at the banquet. She’d never seen an aura with so many different tones of red.

  Unable to snag Jake’s attention and alert him, since he was on the other side of Servilia as she chatted with Julius Caesar, Delia again scanned the mind prober.

  And then, suddenly, his aura was gone! Swallowing, she tried to locate the scribe’s aura once more, to no avail. It was as if he were walled up and hiding from her. Stunned, she watched him move unobtrusively to the other side of the Roman general.

  This man wasn’t like the rest of the people here. Frowning uneasily, Delia turned and tried to catch Jake’s attention. He was on the alert and looking around. Delia watched as he quickly scanned the room. Had the scribe tried to enter his mind, too? Why?

  Frustrated, Delia knew she had to remain on guard and do her duty as a sentry for Servilia. And so did Jake. Were they under some kind of psychic attack? By whom?