The Mind Thief

by Vicki Hinze

  Worry flitted through Ben’s eyes that matched exactly what Darcy felt. “Are you telling me we’ve got to battle GRID and Broken Branch and TNT and your superiors and mine?”

  “I don’t know if I’d say ‘battle,’ but you can bet Colonel Drake, General Shaw and Secretary Reynolds are going to watch every move we make.” Probably even more eyes would be on their every move. “If we miss dotting an i or crossing a t on any step in any of the processes, we’re going to be sacrificial lambs.”

  “No doubt. That’s how it always works,” Ben said. “We’ll have to verify, triple-check and verify again to make sure we haven’t missed anything.”

  She grunted. “Ben, if you had any idea how challenging it is to do those kinds of assessments on active field missions, you wouldn’t be so nonchalant about this. A hint of a misstep on our part will cause the administration and military a public relations nightmare. Maybe create an international incident. A true misstep and people die.”

  “Drake, Shaw and the secretary won’t be satisfied with anything less than unqualified success.”

  “With these stakes? No, they won’t,” she agreed. “And they’ll be brutal to get it.”

  “Then we’d better do what we can to minimize the challenges,” Ben said. “You, no hyper-stimulation attacks. Me, no nonchalant acts. Both are luxuries we can’t afford.”

  She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Ben, I can’t just will myself not—”

  “We try, Darcy.” Ben reached over and clasped her hands in his. “That’s all either of us can do, okay?”

  He did understand. Her hands in his, she stilled, expecting the onslaught, but again, it just didn’t come. She was more stunned at that and her reaction to it than at his understanding. That didn’t so much as mildly surprise her. Why? And why was she confident he’d understood from the start—even before he’d been told Dr. Vargus’s professional opinion?

  “You watch over me,” he said. “If I start getting careless, yank my chain.” She nodded, still a little bemused, and he went on. “Now, tell me what I need to know to watch over you. What are your pre-attack symptoms?”

  Inside, she groaned. She’d really like for him to think highly of her—well, as highly as possible—but if she told him... Instead, she opted for her typical evasion tactics. “About what you would expect.”

  Silence.

  She leafed through a sheaf of papers. But not a sound escaped him, and she accepted that a sound wasn’t going to be uttered until she told him the truth. She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. Yep, truth was what he was waiting for, all right. He stared straight at her. “What?”

  “I expect nothing, Darcy. I have no frame of reference for this.” He frowned, stirred on the stool, then hiked his knee and caught his heel on the lower rung. “I’m not just interested in everything about you, you know. And I’m not trying to invade your personal life or your privacy. I really need to know the signs or I wouldn’t have asked.” He looked away, paused, then looked back at her, his expression frank. “Consider the possibility that I might have something to contribute on this mission. Is it that hard to believe I’m not just dead weight? That I might actually be able to help?”

  “Of course not. It never occurred to me.” He meant both the mission and her. Oddly elated and disappointed and embarrassed all at once, she cursed herself a fool. His interest in her was to keep his own neck out of a noose and to do his part to stop the attack. It wasn’t personal. Disappointment took the lion’s share of her reaction but left a little for sympathy for herself. After all, five years was a long time to spend isolated, and this was her first venture out of it. Who wouldn’t be out of practice?

  “I like you, Darcy,” he said softly, dipping his chin to his chest. “If you think that seems weird to you, I can tell you it’s even more weird to me.”

  So his interest was personal, too. Enormously pleased, she bit a smile from her lips. “Because of what happened with your wife?” she asked. She didn’t find it weird at all. For the first time since the fire, she felt a personal connection—a woman-to-man connection—and her body wasn’t in full revolt or going haywire, threatening to kill her with a massive adrenaline rush. Could her reaction be that strong without positive receptive vibes from him?

  Not believing so, she sat back in her chair, strangely content. These normal reactions had a lot going for them. They were a little scary, of course, but they were also exciting, enticing, even enchanting.

  Until Ben, when she’d felt attracted to a man—there’d only been two—she’d had internal explosions. Those reactions had nothing good going for them. They were excruciating, excoriating and exhausting. Totally horrid. So after the second one, which had lasted a whole ten minutes until he’d touched her hand, she’d sworn off men and resolutely avoided any who could possibly stir an attraction in her. It hadn’t been great way to live. But it’d worked for her.

  Then along came Agent Ben Kelly...

  “Indirectly, yes,” he said. “After my wife, I swore I’d never get close to another woman,” he clarified. “I guess that sounds pretty extreme. But I’ll tell you, Darcy. When you watch someone you love hit bottom and they drag you with them through it over and again, you don’t want another relationship. All you want is peace.”

  “I can see that.” She could see it. All the pain and frustration and the sense of helplessness and hopelessness of watching his wife fall off the wagon time after time and not being able to help her or stop her. In his way, Ben was probably as bitter as Darcy.

  She turned her back to the computer and faced him. “I’d rather not talk about my problems, but you’re right. The odds of me having a hyper-stimulation attack during the course of the mission makes it imperative that you know what to expect.”

  He didn’t look pleased or disappointed that she’d agreed to talk freely to him. Actually, he seemed content to take what came in stride. “Okay. What do I expect?” he asked.

  “Like I told you. Since I awakened from the coma, I remember every sight and smell and touch and sound and taste. As long as I’m in a controlled environment, and I limit the level of sensory input, I can live a pretty normal life. But outside that environment, my brain goes into overdrive and my body’s stuck enduring it.”

  “Are you okay one second and hyper the next?” He dropped a pencil back into a holder on the corner of the drafting table. “Or are there pre-attack signs?”

  “Blessing or curse, there are signs. The first one is that my speech and brain function at different speeds. I talk gibberish and sound like an idiot.” Unable to sit and disclose this to him, she stood up and paced a short path in her hub. “As if that isn’t annoying enough, not to mention humiliating, my chest gets tight and my muscles start twitching.”

  “Which ones?”

  “All of them.” She pretended not to see his surprise. “If the sensory overload continues, I hyperventilate, and my muscles all lock down.”

  He winced. “All of them?”

  She nodded. “I try to avoid getting to that stage. It’s pretty nasty. But the truth is, I don’t know exactly what happens,” she said honestly. “The pain gets so intense that I black out.” She turned her gaze to the wall of photos and notes. “What I do know is that I wake up with one heck of a headache from cracking my head when I fall—sometimes with blood and bruising and fanfare, and sometimes without it.”

  “Dang, Darcy.”

  “I know. It’s awful.” She lifted a supplicating hand. “But what can I do? This is my world.”

  He dropped his gaze, stared down at the drafting table and propped his heel on a stool rung. “This insertion won’t work. You’ll never make it at Los Casas without having those nasty attacks. You can’t put yourself through that.”

  “I’m military, Ben. I don’t get a vote.”

  “Nothing personal, but you can’t risk this—not in your condition.” He rubbed at his nape. “And I can’t agree to this, knowing you’ll be in that kind of pain. What kind
of man could?”

  Touched, her voice weakened to a thread. “Thoughtful, but you don’t get a vote either.”

  He turned to look at her.

  “You heard Colonel Drake. I have my orders and, considering the costs, I’d better work and work well.” A piece of fuzz stuck to his shirt collar. Darcy absently reached over and removed it. No overload, and no shiver this time. “I’m high-liability, but I do have the assets we need—perfect memory.”

  “Why is perfect memory required?”

  “My educated supposition is, no surveillance equipment required. Diminishes detection risks.”

  “At your expense,” he countered. “You’ll be in pain and in danger, Darcy.”

  Caring. He was a very caring man. “This won’t be my first mission, Ben. I have a few years’ experience at this. I know the risks are high.” Was she interpreting his self-concern as concern for her? His life would be on the line and he would be relying on her to have his back. That sobered her thoughts.

  She owed it to him to ask. Colonel Drake wouldn’t approve, but this mattered more. If the current plan didn’t work out, then the commander would just have to accept a different plan. “Ben, I realize my challenges increase the risks to you. I want you to know that you’re free to say no—regardless of what Colonel Drake says. This is between you and me.” Darcy drew back her shoulders and met his gaze. “Knowing what you do about me, will you work with me on this mission anyway?”

  He pursed his lips, snorted and gave his head a good shake, as if he couldn’t believe he was being put in this position, too, when he’d already taken on major risks just to come here. A minute ticked off on the desk clock. Then another.

  “No, Darcy. I won’t work with you anyway,” Ben finally said. He sighed and snagged her hand. “But I will work with you.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “If you’re willing to take on GRID, Kunz, Santana and the hoard of honchos in spite of your challenges, then I’m willing to bank on you.” His eyes shone appreciatively. “I doubt all of them rolled together have your courage. That will take you places nothing else can.”

  She couldn’t help it. She should be mortified by that remark—the responsibility—but instead she was thrilled from the marrow of her bones out. “Thank you, Ben.”

  The look in his eyes warmed—definitely attraction, and most definitely personal. “You’ll thank me later.”

  Her breath hitched. “That could be interpreted as a threat or a promise, Benjamin Kelly.” She worried her lip with her teeth. “Care to elaborate?”

  He sent her a sly look. “Would I threaten a woman who knows hundreds of ways to kill a man?”

  “I suppose not.” Darcy laughed out loud. “So how do I collect on this promise and see what it really means?”

  “Ah,” his eyes gleamed, warm and wonderful. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “Just one.” She thought about it, but failed to figure it out. “Okay, I’ll bite. How?”

  “Live.”

  Colonel Drake stood behind Amanda and Kate at the double doors, leading to Darcy’s domain. “What are you two doing?” She tried to peer over their shoulders.

  Amanda spun around, looking guilty as the cat that ate the canary. “Nothing.”

  Kate didn’t budge even to look back. “Not a thing.”

  Laughter rang out from inside. Darcy? Shock raked up Sally’s backbone. “Is that really Darcy laughing?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Kate smiled.

  Amanda couldn’t hold back another second. “This is the first time I’ve seen her laugh in over a year, Colonel.”

  “Nearly two.” Sally shouldered her way between them to look inside. “So Ben Kelly has what it takes to make our Darcy laugh. And she invited him into her sanctuary?”

  Kate answered. “Yeah, and she’s not freaking out even a little.”

  Sally grunted. “Well, who would’ve thought it?”

  Amanda watched Ben and Darcy verbally sparring with total delight. “You don’t think we need to worry? He won’t take advantage of her condition, will he?”

  “Not if he wants to live,” Kate said. “Look at her. She really likes him.”

  Darcy was glowing. “Mmm, interesting.” Sally stepped back from the door. “Totally different reaction to him than to the two she liked before.”

  “Good thing.” Amanda’s eyebrows shot up on her forehead. “Liking them nearly killed her.”

  Kate clearly recalled the events, and shot Sally a worried look. “She couldn’t chill out enough to sleep for nearly a week.”

  Checking Darcy again, Amanda reassured Kate. “She doesn’t look hyped. She looks...happy.”

  Sally Drake smiled broadly.

  “What?” Kate asked. “You know something.”

  “Nothing,” she said in her best “dang right I do but I’m not telling” voice. “It’s just interesting.” Amanda and Kate would realize what was happening here soon enough.

  And maybe, just maybe, this unexpected but oh-so-welcome event would do for Darcy what nothing else had. Maybe, with a lot of luck and a little divine intervention, it’d make her take back her life.

  A man’s face appeared in her mind. A man gloating. Thomas Kunz.

  Fear clenched Sally’s stomach, snapped her nerves tight. That is, if this mission against GRID didn’t kill them both.

  Or one of them.

  That would be a hundred times worse. Being the survivor was a difficult reality—and no one knew that better than Sally Drake. She lived it every minute of every day. “Colonel?” Maggie said from behind Sally.

  Shaking inside, she turned. Maggie looked dog-tired. Her eyes drooped. “Yes?”

  “Lucas Wexler just requested an immediate backup customs agent. We had Fred Burns call in with a family emergency. He’ll be out on paid leave until further notice.”

  “That was quick.” The FBI, who’d made the overt arrangements to pull Fred Burns off duty and have Darcy inserted as his replacement, and to recall Ben from his fishing trip to help train her, was on its toes. Of course, this mission involved GRID, and the FBI knew as well as the S.A.S.S. how dangerous and ruthless GRID was; it stayed on high alert. Butterflies swam in her stomach. “Amanda.”

  “Transport for Darcy and Ben,” she said, heading back down the hallway to her office. “I’m on it now, Colonel.”

  “Colonel.” Kate’s voice sounded stilted, nearly as worried as she looked and Sally felt. “She’s going up against GRID.”

  GRID. Thomas Kunz. The most feared and ruthless leader of the most feared and ruthless terrorist group opposing the United States. There was nothing GRID or Thomas Kunz wouldn’t do, and both excelled at whatever they took on. Across the board, they had been sickeningly successful. Body doubles, undetected insertions into high-ranking government positions, intelligence interceptions, weapons sales, hostage-taking—the list went on and on. GRID and Kunz were the stuff of nightmares for anyone charged with the national security of the United States. “I know, Kate.” Everyone in the S.A.S.S. feared GRID and Kunz for good reason, and everyone was terrified Darcy would fail to stop the attack.

  But no one feared failure more than Darcy herself.

  No one except Sally Drake, who was sending an impaired operative into this situation, praying Darcy’s fears and her perfect memory would give her the edge the S.A.S.S. needed to succeed.

  Sally stifled a shudder and prayed too that Dr. Vargus was right about Darcy rising to the occasion. If he was wrong, Sally would take him out on the range and shoot him in the butt. She’d told him so, and she’d meant it. He’d sworn that if he was proved wrong, he’d load Sally’s gun.

  Determined to hold him to that bet, she pushed through the double doors and walked past the stacks of unused furniture to Darcy’s hub. Ben and Darcy sat with their heads together near Darcy’s computer. She was listening intently to his every word, which led Sally to expect the chat was personal. Surprisingly, it wasn’t. Ben was giving Darcy a detailed briefing on operations at Lo
s Casas.

  They saw her and stood up.

  “As you were.” Neither Darcy nor Ben sat back down. They knew the awaited word had come, and Sally didn’t prolong it. “We’ve received Wexler’s critical request for a backup agent. Ben, we’ve relayed a call through your Captain Quade, recalling you to train the backup. You two need to get down to Texas to Los Casas. Amanda is arranging transportation now.”

  Chapter Three

  Los Casas wasn’t what Darcy had imagined. Three lanes of traffic were allowed in each direction, each separated by a glass and metal stall protected from car bombers by concrete barriers and a chain link fence topped with circles of razor wire. It looked a lot like the fences at Regret. A quarter mile south of the fence lay Mexico. The hot wind blowing steadily over the dry, barren land stirred up enough dust to choke a horse. The agents likely spent a lot of time at the end of their shifts coughing to clear their lungs.

  They wore uniforms of white shirts and navy slacks and stood outside the stalls, checking the new electronic laser visas on permanent residents or citizens of Mexico and identification on Americans. The stall roof’s slight overhang didn’t do much to protect them from the sun other than at high noon—the glaring light slanted on through, flooding the concrete under the roof.

  “You doing okay?” Ben asked from beside her.

  Surprisingly, she was. “So far, yes.” She offered him a smile to thank him for asking then looked down the line of wilted people waiting in the walk-through lane. It was situated between the traffic lanes and a small cinder-block building. In front of it, about a dozen cars were parked in the dirt in a neat slanted row.

  “The walkers are mostly regulars with laser visas,” Ben told her.

  That explained the biometric scans and metal detection paces the people were being put through. “Mostly men,” Darcy noted.

  “In a couple hours, it’ll be mostly women.” Ben glanced over from the line to Darcy. Sweat beaded at his temples. “Different work hours.”