“Jesus,” Shane said. They’d reached the end of the tunnel, where there was a bank of elevators to take them up into the barracks.
“Yeah,” Mac agreed, pushing the button. They were almost there. God help her. “A few years ago, we pulled a girl out of Iraq after she’d essentially burned her village to the ground. She was thirteen years old at the time. She’d lived most of her life in London, but she was illegal and hadn’t been to see a doctor. So no med scans and no records, right? When she was identified as a noncitizen and sent back to her grandfather—her parents had died—she was immediately given away in marriage. Her husband-to-be was Kurdish and about a million years old, and he insisted that she get circumcised—here in the West, we call that FGM. Female genital mutilation. The scar tissue that’s created acts as a chastity belt—that’s if the girls who are cut actually survive the procedure.”
“I know what FGM is,” Shane said quietly.
“They dress up the maiming with a fancy ceremony,” Mac told him. “But this girl? She wasn’t having it. She tapped into some pretty crazy powers when the village elder first began cutting her. We’re still not sure if she actually started the fire spontaneously, or just used standard telekinesis to knock some stuff into an open flame. Either way, the blaze spread really quickly, and the old man she was supposed to marry was killed. She escaped, and was being hunted when our research team heard the stories about the devil bride. Our rescue squad went in, and we found her first. She’s pretty powerful, but she’s also still pretty messed up.”
“I can imagine,” he murmured. The elevator opened and they got in. Shane was silent as he pushed the button for his floor, so Mac kept going.
“We’ve got a three-person research team down in Analysis dedicated to searching for that type of story,” she told him. “In chat-rooms, on YouTube, on all the Internet blogs. Of course, we look for the extra-freaky here in America, too, since so many people can’t afford health care. Did you know there are over thirty million children in this country who’ve never seen a doctor—who’ve never received a medical scan?”
“I didn’t know the number was that high,” he said.
“It is,” she said, “and it’s growing.”
“So this girl you mentioned, the one who’s missing …”
“Her name’s Nika Taylor. She was on our list of Potentials—and there should be another category for girls like her, and like the girl who torched her village. We should call them Definites. Anyway, Nika was kidnapped by the scumbags who make Destiny—the drug that made Littleton joker. They do what we do—search for girls who are Potentials. Only they don’t train them. They use them. They literally bleed them for the hormones that make the drug.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence, and it wasn’t until the doors opened on the third floor that Mac cleared her throat again. “So, which suite is yours?”
“Three-fourteen,” he told her, leading the way down the hall.
She could feel his surprise as she took out her master key.
“I would’ve thought you wouldn’t need that,” he said. “I read—in the material I was given—that opening locked doors was a pretty basic skill—”
“Telekinesis isn’t one of my strengths,” Mac admitted. She glanced over and found that he was watching her again. She held open the door and gestured for him to go in first. “What did …” She started over, sounding as lame as she felt. “Didn’t Elliot tell you anything … about me?”
Shane shrugged as he looked back at where she was still standing in the open doorway. “Not much,” he said. “He said that you’re one of these Greater-Thans, and … Frankly, I didn’t really believe any of it until … Well.”
He scratched his head, bringing his hand down to rub the back of his neck, and it was hard not to think about the way he’d tried to entice her to see him again, with his offer of dinner and a massage. Mac knew how good his hands would feel on her shoulders, her neck, her back …
She sighed, because that part of their relationship was over. It had to be. It would be after she told him the truth. It was one thing to use her create-an-instant-boyfriend abilities on a stranger, another entirely to seduce a co-worker. “Yeah, some people really have to see it to believe it. And some don’t accept it even then. There’s this crazy group of Fundamentalists, a fringe group of about twenty Bible-thumpers from freaking Kansas, who do believe we’re real—and that we’re evil. Satan’s foot soldiers, they call us. They picket out front every few months or so. But most people don’t know we’re here.”
“I sure as hell didn’t,” Shane told her.
“So Elliot didn’t tell you anything about my particular skill-set?” Mac asked.
“Aside from the accelerated-healing thing,” he said, “no. Your friend Diaz, he, um, managed to put me into some kind of wrestling hold from across the room. I was totally immobilized. Bach did it to me, too. I guess I was assuming that you could do the same …?”
“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I can’t do that. As far as telekinesis goes, I’m only good for the big things. I can knock down a wall or tear off a roof. I could throw you across the room, sure, probably farther than Diaz could dream of doing, but … Your landing would be a little messy and you’d probably be killed, so it’s really not a good idea to try it unless we’re in a padded testing lab. You know, one of the basic skills that most Greater-Thans master is an ability to shield—to protect ourselves from violence—to make ourselves bulletproof. But that’s a form of telekinesis, too—it’s related. And I’m about a second-grade level when it comes to that. I can shield, but only if I focus completely on it—to the point that I’m virtually useless when it comes to utilizing any of my other powers.”
She kept going. “I also suck at telepathy. Dr. Bach can read your mind, but not me. I don’t know what you’re thinking—but I do know what you’re feeling. My specialty is empathy. I can read emotions. Pretty clearly. I can even pick up on emotional events from the past—just by being in the place where they went down.”
He was silent, just standing there in the entryway of his recently assigned apartment, listening, so she kept going.
“I’m also highly skilled at self-healing, which you already know,” she told him. “And, connected to that—it’s a similar neural pathway—I can change my physical appearance at will. To a degree, of course. I mean, I can’t turn myself into a bat, or a panther, or even a man, although that would be useful if I could. I’m stuck with the basics of what I’ve got.”
Mac paused then, because this was where it was going to get difficult, and she found herself searching for the right words.
But Shane took her silence as a signal that she was finished, and he asked, “Aren’t you coming in?”
Before she could answer, he added, “Or are these apartments monitored the way that all of the corridors and elevators and tunnels are?”
“No,” she told him. “There are no cameras in the private residences. So feel free to jerk off in the shower.” Okay, that was stupid—to bring up sex in any way, shape, or form.
Shane smiled, still just briefly. “I was asking because I was assuming you’d want privacy before I said … some of the things I was waiting to say to you.”
They wouldn’t have that privacy with the door wide open.
Mac stepped into the apartment, letting the door close behind her with a clunk.
For some reason, her coming inside made him happy. Happier, anyway. “Can I get you something?” he asked as he went into the kitchen, like she was actually there on a social call. “Coffee, or—”
“No,” she said, purposely leaving off the thank you. “And I’m not coming in. Not any farther than this. But you’re right, privacy is better for what I still have to say to you, too, so—”
“I understand why you couldn’t tell me where you worked.” Shane came back out of the kitchen to say. “I get it. And I also get why you thought you ne
eded to break it off. You’re one of these super powerful Greater-Thans, and I’m … Not. I understand the hazards of fraternization within an organization, I really do. But all that has to mean is that we keep it on the down-low. You’ve got that apartment in Kenmore Square. I say we meet there—”
Damn, she must’ve still—somehow—been doing it. Charming him. She didn’t think she was, and yet … She’d learned to control her abilities, post Tim, thank God, yet it was possible that her attraction to Shane made it kick on, without her awareness, and despite her attempts to stifle it.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she said.
He laughed. “Like hell I don’t.” His smile faded. “Look, there’s something between us that I want to pursue—and it’s more than just sex.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is. I’ve never been so certain of anything as I am about the fact that we … We just fit. Mac, I know you felt it, too.” He came toward her, his intention to pull her into his arms and kiss her written all over his face.
Mac backed up, hands up, and smacked her head on the door. “Shit! Stop!”
He stopped his advance, but only physically. “We can make this work,” he insisted. “You and me, Mac—it was magic. You can’t deny that.”
“No,” she agreed. “I can’t. Although, I’m more inclined to use a slightly more scientific word for what happened last night. It was biology and psychology—but mostly biology.” She forced herself to look him in the eyes as she just said it. “One of my biggest skills is my biological ability to attract men.” She corrected herself. “Others. It works with gay and bi women, too.”
It was obvious that Shane didn’t truly understand what she meant—he didn’t understand why he should care. Because his response was to shake his head and shrug as he exhaled a laugh. “You say that like it’s some kind of unique talent. I’m pretty sure this won’t be a newsflash, but last night, I was looking for some action. It’s not like I was bound for the seminary and you waylaid me en route. Pun intended.”
She didn’t laugh. But that didn’t stop him.
“I think I’d have a better time believing you,” he continued, “if that was the case.”
“You went into Father’s to get laid?” Mac asked skeptically. “That place is a dive.”
“I went in to hustle a few games of pool,” Shane told her honestly. “I needed some cash so I could hit one of the nicer hotel bars, downtown. But then, you walked in.”
“And it was lust at first sight.” She leaned on the word, hoping that he wouldn’t embarrass them both by using the other L-word. “That’s exactly my point. That’s what I do. In this case, unintentionally, but still.”
Shane was clearly unconvinced. “I wasn’t the only man in there who noticed you.”
“And again, you prove my point.”
“Have you ever been in a bar—anywhere—where the men don’t look up when a woman—any woman—walks in?” Shane laughed. “I hate to burst your bubble, but the biological ability to attract applies to all women, everywhere. All you have to be is female for at least some men to say I’d tap that. It’s a given. It’s kind of like my saying that I have a special talent when it comes to eating dinner. My body’s really skilled at turning food into energy. And yeah, metabolism’s involved. Mine’s better than most. Same way you turn more heads when you walk into a bar.”
“This is more than that,” Mac told him. “Do you know how I caught Littleton this morning, before he jokered? I found him at the counter in a greasy spoon, and all I had to do was sit down next to him. I offered to trade him sex for drugs and—”
“Jesus,” he breathed. “You really are out there on the front lines, aren’t you?”
“He would have followed me anywhere,” Mac said.
Shane laughed again, but it was obviously an expression of his disgust. “You say that like it’s some kind of miracle. Do you ever even look into a mirror, Michelle? Do you really not have a clue—”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “And I am not being coy or cute or trying to—”
“Beauty is more than supermodel-perfect features,” he countered. “Which, by the way, any fool with money can buy from any doctor with a surgical knife, along with perfect tits and ass.”
“And what I’m saying,” she shot back, “is that beauty isn’t, ultimately, what attracts. Although it helps—I’m helped by being able to alter my appearance, which is what I did last night, FYI, before taking off my bra? That wasn’t me—that was me, adjusted—for your enjoyment.”
Shane still didn’t understand. She could pick up his bewilderment, along with his amusement. “Am I supposed to apologize because I thought you were hot?” he asked. “When you did something I had no idea you were doing …?”
And okay, when he put it like that, she definitely sounded crazy. “Of course not,” she said. “But you’re not letting me explain.”
“Please,” he said. “Do.”
“It’s not only the adjustments to my physical appearance that make me attractive,” Mac told him. “I also release pheromones and my pupils dilate and … I tune into individual body chemistry—when you sat down next to me, I was able to make myself smell really good, specifically for you. I can read body language—subtle things that you might not even be aware of, and send back messages that inform your subconscious that we’d be—yes—a perfect fit. I can do this instantly and, apparently, subconsciously. The bottom line is that I can dial up the charisma factor—that’s the best way to explain it—whenever I want to. And that makes me irresistible to men. Most men. I must’ve done it without thinking when I went into the bar last night. Otherwise you never would have approached me.”
Shane waited several beats, no doubt to make sure that this time she truly was finished. But then he said, “You can’t know what I would or wouldn’t have done.”
“On the contrary,” Mac said. “I can. You say you went in there to get laid? Well, I did, too. At the time, I wasn’t really thinking that clearly, but in hindsight? Why else would I have gone there? I walked in, and when I saw you—”
“You dismissed me,” he countered.
“As any kind of a threat,” she shot back. “But as a fuck-buddy? Apparently, I locked in on your potential right away. Sometimes eye contact is all it takes.”
Shane laughed again. “So because you looked at me, that was it? My free will was gone? I had to go over and sit next to you—I had absolutely no choice …?”
“You used the word magic before,” she admitted. “In a way, you were exactly right, since I cast a spell on you.”
He was shaking his head. “I don’t believe that.”
“And you also probably didn’t believe that Diaz could pick you up and move you across a room,” she pointed out.
And there it was—she finally felt it. Doubt had put a chink in his certainty, which wavered as he gazed back at her.
“It probably hasn’t fully worn off yet,” she told him quietly. “Whatever it was that I did to you. But it will. It always does. And then you’ll believe me, too.”
She’d managed to silence him. She turned toward the door, aware that there was only one more thing that she had to say. She forced herself to turn back and meet his still-steady gaze. “I am sorry—”
He cut her off. “I’m not,” he said. “Whatever that was that happened between us? And it sure as hell felt like free will, but even if it wasn’t? I’m not sorry. It was fucking great, Michelle.”
Oh, God. “Please don’t call me that.”
“It was fucking great,” he repeated. “Mac.”
She’d expected his anger or indignation. She didn’t quite know what to say, particularly since she now felt the sudden pressure of tears. Dear God, don’t let her cry. “Somehow I doubt you’ll still feel that way tomorrow.”
“And if I do?”
“You won’t.” She had to get out of here. She opened the door.
Shane didn’t stop her, other than to say, �
��Elliot thinks I helped fix your ankle—that I helped you heal today, too. How does that crazy shite fit in?”
“I don’t know,” Mac admitted, glancing back at him over her shoulder. She didn’t know how the fact that just touching this man brought her up to nearly sixty percent integrated fit in with any of this, either. But she did know that she was unwilling to keep on deceiving him. “But thank you for … that.”
He was still watching her, and despite his still-new doubt, she felt it again—that distinct chime of his desire. Despite everything she’d told him, he wanted her to stay.
And God, wouldn’t that be nice—to be able to use sex to release some of her anger and grief at killing Rickie Littleton, at failing to find Nika Taylor, at her own blind and dumb luck for crashing into this incredible man in the first place?
And then, after, she might even be able to fall asleep without assistance, next to his solidness and warmth …
“I’m so sorry,” Mac told him again as she closed the door gently behind her, and the latch caught, locking him in, because Bach didn’t want him wandering the compound while all of his babysitters had been ordered to rest.
He didn’t complain about the lockdown. But he found the intercom. The speaker clicked on, and his voice followed her as she walked away.
“I’m not,” he said again. “Sorry. I’m not …”
“Give it time,” Mac said, even though he probably couldn’t hear her. “And you will be.”
THIRTEEN
Stephen Diaz lived on the very same floor as Elliot, in the OI building known as the barracks.
Elliot stood outside of the Greater-Than’s apartment, afraid to ring the bell and wake him up, but knowing that he had to do it. He had to talk to Diaz before the meeting in Bach’s office. And that meant that this conversation had to happen now.
Regardless of how tired he was.
Regardless of the fact that Diaz might be asleep.
So he raised his hand to ring the bell—and the door opened before his finger hit the button.
Diaz wasn’t sleeping. In fact, it was kind of obvious that he’d recently showered. His chiseled face was freshly shaven, his short, dark hair was artfully arranged. He was dressed for company in a really nice, soft-looking shirt that was a vibrant shade of blue—with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar comfortably open.
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