“A non-Greater-Than,” Stephen chided him gently, then sighed. “And you’re right, that’s the problem. I panicked, which made my levels do a dance. I knew I didn’t have the ability to shield myself from Anna’s private and personal thoughts. And she certainly doesn’t have the ability to create a block to keep me out. And I know she said it was okay with her—she wants to find her sister so badly—but the idea of it just feels too personal. It is too personal. I know this because being inside of your mind …? With your inability to block your thoughts …?” Stephen shook his head. “It’s a deeply intimate experience, El. As intimate as sex. And, well, I’m just going to say it, okay? I don’t want to do that with anyone but you.”
Elliot didn’t know what to say, which was fine because even if he had the perfect rejoinder, he wouldn’t have been able to get his mouth and vocal cords moving to say it.
Stephen took Elliot’s silence for a need to change the subject and did so, glancing back at Edward O’Keefe’s door. “So how is he really?”
Elliot went with it. This he could talk about. “A few hours ago, his organs were shutting down,” he informed Stephen, “and I would have told you he had only a few more hours left. But now …” He shook his head. “He’s not getting better, but he’s not getting worse, either. We just hooked him up to the massager, because Analysis just sent an alert—”
“Yeah, I saw that, too,” Stephen said.
Analysis’s team of scientists had just finished examining a highlevel complex brain scan that had been done on the elderly man, and had discovered that part of his brain was active.
It was the same smallish area of real estate that lit up for the Greater-Thans like Mac who had self-healing skills. So Elliot had come to hook O’Keefe up to the device lovingly nicknamed the brain massager. He’d programmed it to stimulate that same specific region of the old man’s brain.
“Do we still think he jokered?” Stephen asked, still unable to do more than glance into Elliot’s eyes, embarrassed again—this time no doubt because he feared he’d given too much away with that anyone but you proclamation.
“I’m not sure,” Elliot admitted. “He had traces of oxyclepta di-estraphen in his blood. What I’ve yet to find out is how much Destiny he was given and when. We’re hacking into JLG’s system right now.”
“Keep me posted,” Stephen said, and it was exactly what he might’ve said to Elliot in the past. So much so, that Elliot half-expected the Greater-Than to finish the sentence with Dr. Z.
Elliot reached for him without fully thinking, his intention to put his hand on Stephen’s arm and spark their instant connection so he could bring their conversation back to the anyone but you thing, but right before he touched Stephen, he remembered the words the other man had said about that connection being as intimate as sex. And it suddenly occurred to him that Stephen might not want to experience that intimacy in the hallway of the med unit, so he froze with his fingers mere inches from Stephen. And of course, Stephen being Stephen, he understood exactly what Elliot had been thinking, and he shifted closer, close enough to close the gap.
It’s okay. It’s private, simply by nature of being what it is, he told Elliot. He also knew exactly what Elliot wanted to discuss. I’m sorry if I freaked you out.
You didn’t. I love that you don’t want to mind-fuck anyone else.
Stephen laughed. It’s not—
I know, I’m teasing, Elliot told him. Although I do apologize for having such a messy mind, and for being unable to control—
It’s not messy, Stephen interrupted. It’s beautiful—as is the trust that you show me by letting me in. I love feeling what you’re feeling. And that connected circle …? When I’m feeling what you’re feeling, which is what I’m feeling … That’s intimate on a scale that I’ve never experienced before. And I probably couldn’t do it with anyone else, but … The truth is, I don’t even want to try.
Elliot nodded, and he knew that Stephen could feel his sudden burst of complete happiness. We should talk to Bach, set some parameters that you’re comfortable with, in terms of your new telepathic skills. He’s the king of setting boundaries. He’ll understand, completely.
Stephen nodded, too, but he didn’t look convinced. And he didn’t try to put his thoughts into words, he just unleashed it, and as Elliot absorbed it all, he knew that Stephen felt guilty about setting any restrictions. If his going into Anna’s head could help them find Nika, he felt that he should man up and do it.
Yeah, but you wouldn’t feel compelled to have sex with Anna in order to find Nika, Elliot pointed out. Would you?
Mac is, Stephen said. Not with Anna, but …
Mac is engaging in what she thinks is a win/win with Shane Laughlin, Elliot told Stephen. She can pretend it’s all about finding Nika through finding Devon Caine, but it’s not.
Stephen nodded. He knew.
You know I love her dearly, but I would never judge any of my own decisions based on what Mac would or wouldn’t do, Elliot told him, and then, as he broke their connection because his phone was buzzing in his pants, he added aloud, “Let’s give Bach a chance to work his magic with Anna. I have faith in the maestro.” He glanced at his phone. “Ooh, I’m getting a message from Analysis. They just hacked JLG’s records. They’ve got a slew of information about Mr. O’Keefe. Yes. I’m going to go into my office and review it.”
He looked up at Stephen, and before he could ask, Wanna come? Stephen said, “Yes,” adding, “Didn’t need the telepathy for that one.”
Elliot laughed.
And Stephen said, “For the record? My answer’s pretty much universally yes.”
“Good to know,” Elliot echoed Stephen’s earlier words as they headed for his office.
Something had happened.
Shane had no idea what. All he knew was that after proclaiming that Mac had hit an integration level of sixty-two, the computer was no longer reciting numbers.
And that Mac had stopped crying.
He was ready and willing to just stand there, holding her until he dropped, but she broke away, finally ending their kiss.
Her face was somber and pale, but she opened her eyes and met his gaze as she quietly said, “I have to call Diaz and Bach. I know where Devon Caine is.”
“It worked?” Shane couldn’t keep from smiling even though she was still looking grim. “How did you—”
“I don’t know,” she cut him off, clearly frustrated with herself despite her success. “I don’t have to do anything. I just have to think about him and I can feel him. He’s out there. And I know I can find him. I mean, I couldn’t pinpoint him on a map, but I know I can lead a team to him. I’m certain of that.” She paused. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come, too. I can’t risk my integration levels dropping.”
“I’m ready,” Shane said. “Let’s do it. Just point the way.”
The don’t be stupid look she gave him was far more like the irreverent Mac that he knew and loved. “I think you can probably put me down now.”
“And risk your integration levels dropping?” He shook his head. “Hmm, I’m not sure that’s wise.”
“But walking the streets of Boston with our bare asses hanging out, engaged in public fornication is wise?” she countered, even more color returning to her cheeks.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s much smarter to drive. A van, I think. That way we won’t bother Diaz if we need to jump into the back for a little integration enhancement. Chicka-chicka-bow-bow …”
She rolled her eyes. “Just put me down, Laughlin.”
“Yeah,” Shane said, drawing the word out. “I’m pretty sure my muscles locked about fifteen minutes ago.” It wasn’t quite true, but it was close, and he didn’t want to drop her.
“Oh, shit,” she said, genuinely contrite. “I’m sorry!”
“Don’t be,” he told her. His legs were fine. Aside from the postrelease wobble, he could’ve stood there for days, and he now managed a knee-bend to get her closer to th
e floor as she slid off of him. That freed up his arms and he shook them out and rolled his shoulders and stretched his back. “I’m not.”
She’d already turned away, searching for her panties as he reached to pull up his own pants. She found her clothing and escaped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
It was then that Shane noticed that the wall was dented. The drywall had been pushed in just a little bit—in the shape of Mac’s back. The paint was chipping along the edges of the indentation and as he ran his fingers across it some of it flaked off onto the floor.
“Hey, are you all right?” he called, but his words were obscured by the sound of the toilet flushing and the water running in the sink.
The door opened pretty quickly after that, and she came back out, drying her hands on the thighs of her cargo pants.
“Is your back okay?” Shane asked.
Mac said, “What?” so he tapped the wall and she moved closer to look. “Whoa.”
“This time we didn’t just overload the electrical system,” he said.
Mac swore. “I had no idea …” She looked at him hard. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m not the one who hit the wall hard enough to do that. Let me see your back.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“Humor me.”
He must’ve been radiating determination because she rolled her eyes and pulled off her tank top, turning around to let him see—her body language broadcasting her impatience.
She was wearing another of her sports bras, this one blue—a good color for her. Her shoulders were unmarked. Still, Shane took a moment to make sure, slipping his hand up beneath the tight racerback. Her skin was smooth and soft and, as always, touching her increased his heart rate.
And he was struck again by her total lack of art. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a woman who didn’t at least have a rose on her ankle.
“Even if I got bruised or scratched when it happened, you won’t see it. I heal really quickly,” she reminded him. “Little things, like this? I don’t even have to think about.”
And suddenly, it made sense. “That’s why you don’t have any tattoos,” he realized.
“Correct for ten,” Mac said, pulling away from him and putting her shirt back on. “My body reads them as wounds, and heals them. I absorb the ink, and they’re gone in about twenty-four hours. Total waste of cash. One of these days, I’ll figure out how not to do that. Maybe sixty-two’s the magic number.”
She crossed to the chair where she’d thrown her jacket as Shane looked over at the comm-station. Despite the power surge it was still active even though the computer’s voice was silent. Which meant …
“You seem to be holding pretty steady now, at sixty-two,” Shane said.
She glanced up from digging in her jacket pockets. “Yeah.”
“How exactly did you—?”
“I don’t really know.” Mac cut him off as she found what she was looking for—her phone. “I guess I focused. Whatever I did, it worked. Obviously.”
“Well, that’s … good,” Shane said.
“Yup,” she said, devoid of all emotion—neither positive or negative. She was just remarkably flat as she scrolled through her contacts list and dialed, no doubt calling Diaz. “It’s great.”
“So how are we going to do this?” Shane asked. “Devon Caine. A simple locate and grab? Similar to the way you brought in Rickie Littleton?”
“We are not going to do anything.” She put her phone to her ear. “You’re going to stay in the van.”
Shane felt a flash of frustration, but bit back his words as Mac turned slightly away from him to speak into her phone. “Yeah, D, it’s me,” she said. “It worked. I’m picking up Caine’s emotional grid. I don’t know how I’m doing it—you’re just going to have to trust me. Also? I don’t know how long it’s going to last, so we should move quickly.” She paused, nodding slightly as she listened, and then ended the conversation with, “Thanks. We’ll meet you down there.”
When she turned back to Shane, there was a clear challenge in her eyes, and one eyebrow was slightly raised, as if she could sense his irritation and was expecting or even daring him to argue.
And while he completely believed that, despite being a lowly fraction, his skills as a former SEAL would benefit any team looking to make a 270-pound sociopathic serial killer vanish off a city street in broad daylight, he knew that this was not the time to have that debate. They were in a hurry. A little girl’s life depended on their getting this done.
“Let’s go,” he said instead.
“I don’t know how you do that,” Mac said as she unlocked his door and led the way out into the hall. “Because as we’re driving into Boston, Diaz is going to go blah blah blah don’t want to risk you turning Devon Caine’s brain into pudding, Mac, and he’s going to make me stay in the van, too. Or worse—once we locate Caine, he’s going to make us drive away, just flat-out vacate as the rest of the team goes to work. And I am not going to be able to keep from bitching.”
“Yeah, you will,” Shane told her as they double-timed it toward the elevators. “Because you’ll have something else important to do. You know, it occurred to me that if you can find Caine this way, then maybe you can find Nika directly. She was abducted off the sidewalk by her school, right? After we point Diaz at Caine, we can go there and—”
Mac was already shaking her head. “I already tried that,” she said. “It’s harder to do, if the emotional event occurred outside. It—I don’t know—dissipates or something. The emotions. I thought that, too—that she must’ve been terrified when she was kidnapped—they hit her really hard, but …” She shook her head. “I couldn’t feel her. I was there for over an hour. I tried.”
And failed—and suffered for it, blaming her own inadequacies, even though she was attempting the virtually impossible. Shane knew Mac well enough now to be certain of that.
“Sixty-two,” he reminded her as they approached the bank of elevators. “Maybe you could feel her now. We could go over there. You know. After. Just to give it a try.”
She clearly liked that idea and she nodded. “Yeah. That’s a good plan.”
“Yes,” Shane celebrated as he reached the down button first and leaned on it. “Proving myself valuable as more than just an extremely well-educated sex toy.”
Jackpot. She finally laughed. True, it was more of an expression of exasperation or disgust than genuine amusement. Still, she was about to say something, when the doors opened with a ding.
The elevator wasn’t empty. Robert from Hospitality was standing behind a cart that was loaded down with metal-covered plates of food. It was the lunch Shane had requested from the computer. Had to be.
“Damn,” Shane said. “You are one hungry woman.”
Mac laughed again, pulling him to the side, but then holding the doors open with her foot, so that Robert could wheel the cart out. “This is for the entire floor.”
“Thank you, Dr. Mackenzie. Oh, don’t forget this,” Robert said, reaching down to the lower shelf of the cart to pull out … A brown paper sack and a cardboard holder filled with two fairly small coffee cups, their lids securely attached.
Shane took the bag as Mac took the coffee.
“Thanks, Bob,” Mac said as she and Shane got into the elevator.
As the doors closed, Shane opened the bag to look inside, even though he’d already realized what was in there, from its size and weight.
“You asked for it. Two energy bars and a cup of coffee,” Mac confirmed. “Times two.”
“Always to go.” He didn’t need to make it a question. He knew. The coffee was a small enough cup so that she could probably finish it before she reached the lot where her bike was parked. The energy bars—filling and far quicker to consume than a sandwich—would go into her pockets.
But Mac answered anyway. “Nika’s not the only missing girl in this city,” she told him quietly. “There’re a lot of them out there,
being bled dry every single fucking day. I’ll eat when I’m old and I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
Shane nodded. And here he’d thought the most he’d learn from her dining habits was whether she had a secret love for junk food or was a strict vegan.
Instead he’d gotten a glimpse inside of her head.
Anna was dreaming that she was back in David’s townhouse, in the expansive entryway.
She wasn’t surprised to be here—she’d more than half expected it.
What she didn’t expect was Joseph—he was with her. And he was dressed the same way he’d been in the dream she’d had while drugged—like a Disney prince.
“This is still you, you know,” he told her, gesturing to his outfit.
“Sorry,” she said. She herself was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, clunky boots on her feet. “I don’t know why I do that.”
“I’ll live,” he said. “You know, this has to start as a nightmare. I’m sorry about that.”
Anna did know. She nodded and turned, and there he was—David—at the top of the stairs, on the second-floor landing. Just the sight of him there, looming and angry, made her heart pound.
“Easy,” Joseph murmured, and she felt his hand, warm on her shoulder. “That’s good, but don’t wake up. She’s out there, I feel her—Nika.”
Anna blinked and David moved closer—he was now standing halfway down the flight of stairs. And it was then that Anna didn’t simply feel Nika, she saw her—a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye—but her little sister vanished the moment that Anna turned. Of course, when she turned back to David, he’d reached the bottom of the stairs. He stood there, just staring at her, his eyes lit with anger, the same way he’d looked at her on that awful, awful day.
But this wasn’t a memory, it was a dream—albeit a bad one—except, Joseph was still beside her. “Don’t wake up,” he told her again, but God, she couldn’t help but remember the nightmare of David’s weight on top of her, keeping her from getting away even though she struggled and fought and kicked and hit.
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