by Kay Hooper
“Did you know you were adopted?”
Tasha blinked. “Maybe not so numb. No. No, I didn’t. Are you sure about that?”
“I’ve had Tucker researching for hours, and he’s very, very good at finding information.”
Brodie glanced at Tasha’s face, then back at Murphy. “What started you down that path?”
“If I say an anonymous tip, will you let it drop?” Murphy being Murphy, she figured the more puzzles he had turning in his mind, the less likely he was to focus on the wrong one.
“No. Dammit, Murphy—”
“In that case, it was just something I’ve been thinking about. Look, we’ve been theorizing that the other side might be breeding psychics. Naturally, they’d be most interested in born psychics, whose abilities might be genetic.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Well, this web all around Tasha is . . . interesting.”
“That’s one word for it,” Tasha murmured, still looking a bit shell-shocked.
Brodie reached out and covered her hands, which were knotted together on the table. “Murphy never learned any social graces,” he told Tasha, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
“Never needed any,” Murphy said blithely. “The point is, we aren’t sure how long they’ve been keeping track of her, except here in Charleston. But what if it’s been always? A teacher here, a neighbor there. It would have been easy.”
“Why make no attempt to take me?” Tasha asked, her gaze fixed on Brodie’s hand over hers.
“Maybe because it wasn’t yet time.” Murphy lifted a hand to stop the question Brodie was about to ask. “Maybe Duran had to keep you safe while he searched for the perfect match for you—using whatever parameters they use for that. I just heard from Sarah. She says we need to visit. Now.”
“And bring all Tasha’s watchers with us?”
“Not part of my plan.” She dug in a pocket and slipped Brodie a set of keys. “Parking garage a block behind Tasha’s building. Third level, slot eighteen. It’s a Mercedes with tinted windows. The nav computer is already programmed with a destination. They’re in apartment 4-D. I’ll see you there just a bit later. I’m going to make sure you aren’t followed.”
Brodie got to his feet, pulling Tasha gently up as well. “Sure about this?” he asked Murphy.
“Positive. Go. See you later.”
Murphy waited until they were out of sight. She knew their route from the parking garage would take them in the opposite direction. She gestured for the waitress, handed over the cups she and Tasha had both ordered and barely touched, plus Tasha’s crumbled muffin, then said pleasantly, “Two small coffees, please. Black.”
“Yes, miss.”
Murphy leaned back in her chair and linked her fingers together over her middle, offering the waitress an absent smile when she returned, but not saying anything at all.
Until he sat down across from her.
“Keep your people where they are,” she told him flatly. “Tell them to stand down.”
“Or?”
She looked at Duran, expressionless. “Keep your people where they are.”
He returned the stare for a moment, then said, “I’ve already given that order.”
“I hope so. I really do.”
He opened his coffee and took a sip. “I could never quite get used to this,” he said almost absently.
“An acquired taste.”
“Are you angry about something, Murphy?” His tone was pleasant.
Hers matched it. “Angry? No. It’s much stronger than that. I don’t like being lied to, Duran.”
“Now, when did I ever lie to you, Murphy?”
“You really don’t want me keeping score, do you?”
“You really don’t want me to believe I have any control over that—do you?”
“Best not.” Murphy settled more comfortably in her chair. “After all this time, I thought you’d learned to hide things better. But a home for unwed mothers, everything paid for and yet the kids adopted out for very reasonable fees?”
He’d gone still, but other than that, there was no reaction.
Murphy was satisfied. “So far, we’ve found them all over the southeast. I imagine we’ll find more. Some still in operation. You notice I’m giving you fair warning.”
“I noticed that.” His voice was level.
“Our resources are stretched thin. Not sure we’re ready to take on pregnant psychics. Carrying psychic babies.”
“They do demand . . . considerable expense and manpower.”
“But the payoff is worth it, I assume.”
“That remains to be seen.” He paused, adding dryly, “I doubt we’ll get our hands on Tasha Solomon again.”
“So she was in the first generation. I’m surprised it took you so long to try that.”
“It required . . . extensive planning. Considerable genetic research, far ahead of what was being done at the time. And we had to search for some time before we began finding suitable candidates.”
“I can imagine. Most born psychics learn to shield. And the ones who don’t . . . Well, let’s just say they probably wouldn’t be up to the job.” She saw a minute change in his expression and added, “Weren’t up to the job, I take it. Pregnancy hormones on top of an already unstable mind. How many did you lose?”
“Too many,” he said briefly.
“The cost of experimentation. Sometimes it does run higher than expected.”
“Yes.”
“If I were you,” she said pleasantly, “I’d find a different way of . . . achieving that goal. Our researcher is really quite a genius. And now that he knows what to look for, well, he’ll find what’s there. Everything that’s there, no matter where you tried to hide it.”
It wasn’t often that Murphy got the upper hand with Duran, and she knew she was enjoying it just a little too much.
He inclined his head slightly, expressionless.
Murphy nodded to the cup in front of him and said, “Don’t leave without your coffee.” She waited until he rose to his feet before adding softly, “Eliot Wolfe killed Brodie’s wife. A born psychic, and he killed her. A psychic with a husband who would . . . never . . . give up searching until he found that killer. You do realize that.”
“I had my orders,” he said finally.
“I see. Well, if I were you, I’d find a way to make sure that Candidate Wolfe meets with a terrible accident, Duran. Soon. And no burned body. No body that can’t be absolutely, one-hundred-percent identified as Eliot Wolfe. Proof enough to satisfy me. Proof enough to satisfy Brodie.” She waited a beat, then said, “I told you I couldn’t afford to lose Brodie, and I meant it.”
“What makes you think I can afford to lose Wolfe?”
“What makes you think I give a damn? But just so you know I’ve considered the matter, your shining political star made a bad mistake using bad judgment. And no matter how certain you feel of being able to control him, I doubt that mistake will be his last. Cut your losses, Duran. Or I’ll arrange the accident myself. And you know me. I might leave a mess behind. I don’t think either one of us wants that.”
Even though he was on his feet, a tall man, and she was slouched in her chair with her head tipped back as she looked up at him, an onlooker would have been hard-pressed to decide which one was dominant in the standoff.
Finally, though, Duran picked up his coffee cup, and said, “Always a pleasure, Murphy. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”
“But not in Charleston.”
“No. No, not here. I have . . . other irons in the fire. I’m sure we both do.”
“Yes. And, Duran? Just be sure you take all your toys when you leave Charleston. We can see them now, of course, but I wouldn’t want to stumble over any of them in the dark.”
“You won’t.” He turned and strolled away, a man c
learly not in a hurry to get anywhere in particular.
Murphy remained where she was for some time, staring into space. Had he guessed, she wondered, that she had realized as soon as she’d learned about Wolfe just what the real web was? He wove it expertly, whether alone or under orders, and she had no doubt he had been working on it for a long time. A very long time. But he was also a long way from finished. A long way . . .
And that left them room to maneuver.
And time to get their own webs woven.
She got to her feet and left a few bills underneath the coffee she hadn’t touched. He was right; it tasted bitter unless you were used to it.
She hated the stuff.
Then she walked briskly toward a different parking garage, a woman who definitely was in a hurry to get where she needed to be.
State governments. Federal. Foreign. So many people needed to run them all. So many strands of a web needing to be woven.
So much potential for control.
And such a quiet, intelligent way to handle an invasion.
Almost no one would realize until it was too late.
Almost no one.
They’d have to figure out first just how many candidates Duran and his organization already had in place. And how many were up and coming, like Wolfe.
Like Wolfe had been.
Murphy wondered idly how Wolfe would be dispatched, and wondered if Duran would do it with his own hands. Then she dismissed the matter and walked faster.
There was a lot of planning to do.
EPILOGUE
Three days later, Bishop sat with his wife at one of the sidewalk tables of a popular local coffee shop. It was a clear, sunny day, and many people were about, some strolling, some walking briskly.
Some drinking coffee in all its variations.
“You’re sure Duran is gone?” Miranda asked rather lazily.
“All of them are. I can feel the difference. So can Sarah. Tasha definitely feels it.”
“So can I. Much less tension.”
“Yes. Even though Tucker’s list of probable shadow homes for unwed mothers is growing, and we also have to search for Stepford moms, I’d say we have a good start in tracking down the kids.”
“And a better understanding of some of the things Duran’s people have been doing. Even if we still don’t have an answer to the central question in all this.”
“Why psychics?”
“Why psychics.” Miranda shook her head slightly. “Although I think the others are content right now to celebrate the not-so-small victories. Like Tasha being safe. Like that poor little abused orphan girl finding her way to Sarah, the absolutely perfect person—and couple—to raise her and love her and teach her about being psychic.”
We’ll have one of our own, love. No matter what the doctors say.
Miranda smiled at her husband. I know. We’ve beaten the odds too many times to give up easily.
Out loud, she said, “I do wonder about that cat, though. Annabel swears he led her to Sarah and Tucker. Said he kept her warm at night, and whispered in her ear so she knew things, and she followed him because she knew that was what she was supposed to do. And both Tucker and Sarah said he’s turned up in their lives before, very mysteriously but always helpful. And very un-catlike. Seems to get around a hell of a lot for a cat who doesn’t appear to belong to anyone but himself.”
“Well, cats. They can be very independent. And they’re pretty good at taking care of themselves. But I have a hunch Pendragon is going to stick with Sarah, Tucker, and Annabel, at least for now. Most cats are smart enough to know when they’ve landed in a lucky place. I think Pendragon is a smart cat. A very smart cat.”
“I’d say so.” Miranda glanced down at the newspaper folded on their small table, idly noting, with only the distant pang one feels for a stranger, that a promising candidate who had been running for lieutenant governor of the state had been killed in a car accident.
Such a pity.
* The First Prophet
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