“What if—” God, she didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to see his admiration and pride turn to disappointment and disgust. But she had to talk about it. Had to know. So she could make a decision. “What if I caused it?”
“What?” It came out with a little laugh, but he immediately shook his head. “What are you talking about? No way you caused that.”
“I might have. I—”
“No, hold on.” He stood in one smooth motion and stepped back, drawing her up with him as he once again checked their surroundings. “Let’s go inside and get some coffee. You look like you’re freezing.”
Coffee didn’t warm a chill that wasn’t physical, but Riley pressed the button on the handle to lock the car and went inside, this time going first and holding the door for Sam behind her, because she was tired of following.
“Seat yourselves, kids,” the waitress called from behind a crowded counter. “Be right with you.”
Riley chose a corner booth away from most of the diners in the half-full place, and sighed deeply as soon as she sat. Sam positioned himself so he could see the door behind her, but his attention was clearly on her.
“I was watching the beam,” she told him right away. Getting it over with might not help, but it wouldn’t hurt, either. “Thinking about touching…no,” she corrected, remembering how it felt to use the metal in the forklift, “tapping that much metal. What I could do then. I actually thought about—” Shame cut off the words. Sam watched her with understanding eyes, and the nausea climbed up toward her throat.
She forced the words out fast. “I imagined saving someone trapped by equipment. And seconds later, the beam slid, knocked over the forklift, and gave me someone to save.” She covered her face to hide both from the memory and Sam’s expression, and maybe to keep her breakfast in.
“Sorry to make you wait,” said a cheerful voice over Riley’s head. “Coffee?” A beat, then, “Hon? You okay?”
Riley dropped her hands and nodded. “Yes, thanks. And coffee’s good.” She waited until the woman had poured and walked away without pressing them to order food.
As soon as the waitress was out of earshot, Sam grabbed Riley’s hands and leaned over the table. “You didn’t do it, Riley. I swear it.”
“How do you know?” Tears welled, and she tried to tug her hands away, but he’d engulfed them fully in his. She didn’t want him to let go, but didn’t deserve how good they felt.
“Were you touching any metal?” he demanded.
She blinked at him. “No. I don’t—no. Not directly.”
“Have you ever done telekinesis—moved objects from a distance—when you weren’t touching metal?”
Hope began to coat the nausea. She thought about things she’d done, testing the abilities once she understood what was happening, and slowly shook her head. Then stopped. “Wait. My boss’s chair. The one that dumped him on his ass. The metal in the shaft snapped, and I wasn’t touching it.”
“Were you touching other metal?”
God, she didn’t know. That was before she understood anything. She squeezed her eyes closed and thought about the conference room. Her own chair had been plush and padded, covered, so no, not even her legs were touching metal parts. She’d stopped using her nice metal pen once she melted it, of course, and the table was solid wood—no, wait. They’d gotten a new table for the executive conference room and moved the gigantic chrome and glass one into theirs. That was before she’d figured out what was going on, so she hadn’t realized her arms were braced against the metal frame.
“There you go,” Sam said when she told him. “Plus, I was watching when it happened.” His voice was a low rumble, meant to be soothing, but it dug under her skin. “They hadn’t secured the sling properly. It wasn’t centered. So when they pulled it sideways, the weight shifted, and—”
“You’re sure?” When he nodded, all the tension flowed out of her, leaving her as weak and trembly as she’d been when she first saw it all happen. “Thank you. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I’d done it.”
Sam scowled at her but didn’t say anything. He leaned back, and Riley grimaced at how dirty her hands were. She slid to the end of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”
Sam checked his watch and glanced outside, then looked around the diner. He had a direct line of sight to the restroom doors but shifted as if to follow when she stood.
Riley pressed her hand to his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m just washing up. I’ll be quick, I promise.”
Sam nodded, flipping open a menu and settling deeper into the cushioned seat, but she could tell he was still on alert. “I’ll come after you this time.”
Riley snorted. As if he hadn’t come after her every other time, including at the library. If she’d been a few seconds slower, he’d probably have charged into the ladies’ room.
She wasn’t sure which of her responses to that was worse: the pleasure that he found her worth coming after, or the fear that eventually he would stop.
Chapter Five
Full potential is rarely realized without combined resources, shared experience, and the right outlook. Achieve your destiny. Expand your dreams. Become one of us.
—Millinger.com
Walking into the Society building after a year and a half didn’t jolt Sam as much as he expected. The building’s owners had done some work in the lobby, getting rid of chipped linoleum and painting the walls a faded tan color. A new directory had been mounted next to the elevator nook. Society for Goddess Education and Defense was in bold, blue lettering, larger than the other businesses in the list. They were the only company on the eighth floor now.
They rode the elevator silently. Sam resisted the urge to put his hand on Riley’s back again. He kept finding excuses to touch her, but there wasn’t anything he could do about the tension she must’ve been feeling. It would dissipate once she met these people and realized she could fit in here. He was sure of it.
The elevator dinged, and in the split second before the doors slid open, he wished she would put a hand on his back. His heart beat so fast his pulse seemed to vibrate in his neck. His apprehension was in direct opposition to the bland entryway inside the glass door—neutral carpet and visitor chairs, pastel watercolors on the walls, an unremarkable sign under a clock behind the reception desk.
A woman he didn’t know sat at the front desk. She looked up when they walked in, her smile matching the décor.
“Can I help you?”
“Sam and Riley to see Alana and…Marley. They’re expecting us.”
The smile hardened. “You don’t have an appointment.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “I don’t need one.” He’d given a lot to the Society with nothing in return. Helping take down the leech, build an educational program, and protect goddesses rated him better than you don’t have an appointment.
Someone stepped out of an office down the hall and headed toward the break room.
“Alana!” Sam called.
She looked up with a grin and hurried toward them. “Sam!”
He held out his arms and accepted her hug, then stepped back to draw Riley closer to them. “Alana, this is Riley Kordek. Did Marley—”
“Yes, she told me all about you.” Alana held out a hand to Riley, who shook it with only a slight hesitation. “Come on. I’ll take you down to her office. You’re lucky. Things are quiet around here right now.”
They followed her down the hall. Alana swung through an open office door and moved to the side so Riley and Sam could squeeze in behind her.
“Marley, good. I was afraid you were on the phone.”
Marley looked up, and Riley gasped, a small sound that Sam silently agreed with. Even after working with her for a year, seeing her like this startled him every time.
Marley flinched, even though she had to get the same reaction from everyone she met. She waved a hand at her eyes. “I know. Freaky, right? They used to be almost lavender. Quinn—my sister—calls them Easter-egg eyes.
” The description was a good one. The leeching had bleached most of the color, leaving purple specks that did remind Sam of candy eggs.
“What…happened?” Riley asked.
Marley managed a smile. “Long story. I’m sure I’ll have time to tell you later. You’re Riley?”
Alana nodded. “Yes, Riley Kordek—Marley Canton, our education coordinator.”
“Temporary.” Marley waved a hand around the small office, crowded with filing cabinets that ringed the walls, barely leaving room for her desk and one guest chair. “I’m sorry, I’d stand, but as you can see, there isn’t really room for that.”
“No problem.” Riley tucked her hair behind one ear and folded her hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Sam watched Marley do a quick assessment of Riley and tried to see her through the other woman’s eyes. For the first time since the attack, he saw the runaway who’d walked into the bar with her vulnerable core hidden under a tough veneer. He liked the shagginess of her blond hair, but suspected the other women thought she needed a haircut. Her teeth were straight, as if she’d had braces, but she didn’t wear makeup. Not that she needed it, with lush lashes around her dark hazel eyes and a natural light pink tinge to her golden complexion.
He realized what he was doing and swung his attention to Marley, who was already watching him, a half smirk on her face. “Hey, Sam.”
“Hi, Marley.” He hunched his shoulders with his hands deep in his pockets, glad she hadn’t gotten up to hug him. But she surprised him by rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to the others.
“Did she fill out the registration form yet?”
“No, can you go over that with her? And Sam, umm—” Alana turned back to him, obviously unsure what to do with him.
“I have to talk to John. He here?”
“Yep. In his office.”
“Great.” He smiled at Riley. “I’ll be back. You’re in good hands here.”
Riley nodded and sat in the chair next to Marley’s desk, her jaw tense and lifted slightly. Defensive, but she’d be okay.
Alana crossed the hall to the break room, and Sam went to the right to John’s office. The man sat at his desk, a phone to his ear and a scowl on his face. “I don’t care if it’s three thousand miles, find a way to get there. You’re closer than anyone else, and she needs you now… Fine. I’ll tell her.” He slammed the phone down, grumbling, and looked up when Sam rapped on the doorframe. His expression cleared and almost became a smile. “Sam! Get your ass in here!” He stood to clamp Sam’s hand with his and motioned for him to sit. Sam closed the door behind him and sank onto one of the sturdy, padded wooden chairs.
John’s office was bigger than Marley’s, with fewer cabinets, and had the advantage of a big window on the back wall. The two chairs in front of the large, file-strewn desk were nicer than the single worn visitor chair Marley had. But Riley probably preferred that one, Sam thought, because it had a metal frame.
“What was that about?” he asked, indicating the phone.
John shook his head. “Goddess down south. Young, naïve. Asshole ex has been harassing her. Power source is live trees, and she rarely leaves her forest. But she went to a family wedding on the plains, and it looks like the ex followed her.”
Sam nodded. “Out of her element, not enough access, perfect time to attack. You didn’t have a protector scheduled to go with her?”
John gave him a “you know better” look. “She didn’t tell us. Figured she wouldn’t need it. Until he showed up, she tried to scare him away, and everything fizzled.” He closed the file on top of the mess and shoved everything to the side. “The guy I’m sending is good, though.” He launched into a story about his protector and the kid’s two brothers, who’d signed up for training because they thought it would have the cachet of the Navy SEALs without the hard work. Their trainer had quickly disabused them of that but convinced them to stay anyway.
“Would you believe,” John said, “Nick got those three shaped up and ready to work in less than a month?”
Of course Sam believed it. Nick Jarrett was a friggin’ Mary Sue. He could do anything, protect anyone, had every skill a protector needed and then some. Forget about the time he almost died because he underestimated his enemy, or the time he let Quinn be bait for a guy who’d turned out to be more dangerous than any of them had presumed. Nick had his share of flaws, but the head of the Protectorate seemed to forget that.
“I’m not here to talk about Nick.”
“’Course you’re not.” The older man stood. “Come on, let’s go outside. Hate being cooped up in here.”
Sam followed without protest. John had been in charge of the protectors for over twenty years, but only in the last three had he been so tied to the Society. Before, he’d had a role on the board and a loose working relationship, but he’d operated out of his own home base. He hadn’t hesitated to volunteer for his new job, but it meant a lot more paperwork and a lot more indoor time. As far as Sam could tell, John hated the city.
They took the stairs instead of the elevator, and once outside, John lit up a cigarillo and strolled toward a park a block away. Sam shrugged off his jacket in the unseasonably warm late-afternoon sun.
“Much better,” John sighed. “Air’s not always too fresh, but it’s better than in there. Less compromised, if you know what I mean.”
“Ahhh…” Sam frowned, not sure he did. “Yeah.”
John returned a greeting to a cart vendor on the corner before they crossed the street. “So you ran into Millinger, did you?”
“Worse. I saw Anson. I think,” he corrected immediately. “In Connecticut. Someone was following Riley. I only got a glimpse of the driver, but he looked like him.” He related everything that had happened and everything Riley had told him. “What’s his status?” he asked John at the end.
“Don’t know. We can’t find him.”
“What?” Sam stopped walking to stare at him. “How?”
John shrugged, the gesture deceptively casual. “His parole officer said he never missed a check-in. But he cleared parole last month and in the past week or so, he’s managed to elude our guy. Can’t catch him at home or at work. Which is…guess where?”
Sam didn’t have to work hard to come up with that one. “Millinger,” he ground out. “Why does it not surprise me that Anson is in the middle of something again?” They should have kept the asshole in jail, but it was pointless to gripe about that. The civilian authorities had had no reason not to release him. In their eyes, worse offenders had gotten off easier.
They reached the park, and John settled down on a bench that faced into the trees instead of onto the rush-hour traffic clogging the street.
“So what are your thoughts on this?” He squinted at Sam through his cigarillo smoke.
“They’ve been following Riley for months. They orchestrated things so she was alone and vulnerable, watched her, pushed her beyond her limits. Like they want to see what she can do.”
“And?”
“Millinger has to be a front.”
“For?”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. But Riley can’t be the only goddess they’re looking for. She wasn’t even registered.”
John stubbed his butt out on the sidewalk and pocketed it. “I’ve had reports from some of my team about strangers sniffing around their assignments. Mostly, they approach when they’re in power, so our guys aren’t around.” Protectors generally worked when a goddess’s source wasn’t available and she was, for whatever reason, vulnerable. For a while, a few years ago, they’d worked around the clock, but once the leech story had been contained and they’d determined the threat level was low, they’d backed off again.
“So your information is mostly secondhand,” Sam said.
“At first, yeah, but bits and pieces add up to structure. I put out some feelers, found others who’d been approached but hadn’t realized it at the time. Marley’s mom, Tess, was one who called me directly.”
>
That surprised Sam. Tess was also Quinn’s birth mother, and she’d eschewed involvement with the Society most of her adulthood. “What did she say?”
“She got a customer in the greenhouse. Very debonair, she said, knowledgeable about his plants. Charming.”
“So not like Vern and Sharla.”
“Not much. But you know Fairfield. Lotsa money in that town.”
“Right. And? What triggered her about this guy?”
“The questions he asked. About where she got her talent, and that he’d heard she also did plastic work.”
Sam nodded. Tess’s talents made her skilled at non-surgical physical changes like eliminating scars and fixing flaws.
“She pretended she didn’t know what he meant,” John went on, “because she always asks her clients to give her a heads up before they refer someone, and no one had told her about this guy. But he got pushy about it. So she called me, asked if I thought she needed a protector.”
“Did you assign one?”
“We sent Quinn down. She was still here—you know you just missed her? And Nick?”
“Ah, yeah. I know.”
John laughed. “So she and Nick went down to visit. Stayed a few days, and then ‘left,’ but didn’t really, and the guy didn’t show up again. I’m thinking it was a fact-finding mission.”
“So the question is what facts did they find, and why did they use such different methods for Riley?” His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he automatically reached for it.
“Depends on what they want. Maybe different things from different people,” John speculated, “because some of the others weren’t so slick. Made a few goddesses pretty nervous. Our assignments are up again, and we’re stretched thin watching for threats and providing peace of mind.” He watched Sam check the phone and pocket it again.
“How far have you gotten researching this?” Sam asked.
John’s expression flattened. “Jeannine and I have been meeting with some people we think are related, but they’re not very cooperative. We don’t know who’s behind it or what their goals are. They could be legit, fall into some gray area, or be planning something completely illegal. We have no—”
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