by Marie Harte
Cole pulled himself together and shook his head free of the visions.
“Glad to know we amuse you,” Max answered Jurek. “We live to please. You okay, Cole?”
“Just great,” he rasped. “I love seeing my friends nearly fried to a crisp.” He staggered to one of the chairs not scorched and sank into it. “What the hell, man?”
Jurek raised a brow at Max. “Remy Davis? Really, Max. How long did you think you could hide her here before I found out?”
Cole glanced from one man to the other, aware of the intense energy that existed between the powerhouses. His uncle—the man behind Buchanan Investigations, a telepath with seemingly limitless power—and Jurek Westlake, a man as charming, mysterious and well-connected as the president.
“Cole, I need to talk to Jurek. Would you mind giving us some space?” his uncle sent him.
“Hell no,” he sent back along the mental path Max had created. Cole refused to budge until he had some answers.
Max sighed and took a seat behind his desk while Jurek sat next to Cole. “I knew you’d find out eventually. I’d planned on telling you, but not quite like this.”
“Entertaining as always.”
Max chuckled. “Did you see that? I knew Remy still had power, but I hadn’t realized J.D. had grown so strong.”
“Me either. Little shit’s been holding out on me.” Jurek stretched out his legs and rubbed the back of his neck. “I still feel tense from all this residual energy. It’s probably a good thing they hadn’t gotten together before now.”
“You can say that again.”
Cole felt the unspoken communication between the pair. They both turned toward him, saying nothing.
Aware both men intended to remain mute around him, Cole fumed. “Don’t think I won’t find out what the fuck that was all about.”
“Language, boy,” Max muttered.
Cole refused to acknowledge the gibe. To Jurek, he said, “J.D. knew her. They had a history.”
“A bad one, and one that’s not for me to share.”
“Or me,” Max chimed in.
Jurek deliberately changed the subject, not at all subtle about doing it. “I came today looking for some information I thought you might be able to provide.”
“Oh?” Max sat back.
“I’ve been getting correspondence from a wealthy oil capitalist down in Texas. Lee Brooks. The name ring a bell?”
When neither Cole nor Max showed any sign of recognition, he sighed and continued. “Brooks has been hinting that he believes his life is in danger, and he wants Westlake to aid him. He’s aware of our particular services.”
“You mean, he knows you’re not just a bunch of crazies spouting off about being psychic, but that your boys actually have skills, nearly on par with ours,” Cole taunted.
Jurek shook his head. “So competitive. But yes, that’s the gist of it. I don’t really care that people talk about what we do. While we don’t advertise our unique abilities, we don’t hide them either. Successes are what count, not the methods we use to achieve them.”
Max nodded. “I agree.”
“Great. We all agree. So what does your new client have to do with us?” Cole asked, tired of the polite airs and his uncle dancing around the issue.
Jurek answered without missing a beat. “I did some digging into Brooks.” He paused, and Max’s gaze sharpened. Whatever he was about to say interested his uncle, so Cole took note.
“You’ll never guess what I found,” Jurek said. “Brooks has a convoluted connection to the new and improved ISPP.”
Max sucked in a breath. “I thought you’d taken care of that ten years ago.”
“ISPP?” Cole frowned. That sounded familiar.
“The Institute for the Study of Psychic Phenomena,” Jurek explained. “We had them disbanded a decade ago. The ISPP was a small sect funded by the government that did experiments and tests on behalf of the defense department. They tried to use psychics as weapons to further our war efforts.”
“At the time it started, we were busy battling a rogue band of drug runners in South America, a perfect test bed for the ISPP’s experiments,” Max added bitterly.
Cole watched his uncle, more than curious about his animosity. Max sounded as if he had a personal stake in the ISPP.
Jurek cleared his throat. “Yes, well, the ISPP—or the Institute, as we used to call it—was created to help our country. Unfortunately, in later years it did more harm than good to the poor people dedicated to the project.” Jurek glanced at Max, and Cole understood.
His uncle had been hurt by the project. Enough said.
Jurek explained, “I’ve kept watch for any rumor the organization might start up again. The Institute had too many contacts and clout for me to think they’d totally gone away for good. As it was, our first attempt to shut them down failed.”
“Until Jurek got word from an inside source,” Max added. “A young girl afraid of her controlling uncle. A girl with an electric touch.”
“Remy. Damn,” Cole swore.
Jurek nodded. “I found a high-ranking military official who wasn’t tied to the Institute or its founders and made plans. He only needed enough evidence to put the ISPP down for good. When Remy contacted me, I knew we could end the organization.”
Max sighed. “Remy never told me this, but I read it from her from day one. You know I’m thorough about who we hire,” he said to Cole. “The girl needed time to hide and heal. Her uncle did terrible things to her for years. None of it was her fault.”
“Then why does J.D.…” He didn’t want to out his friend, but Cole wanted to know why his buddy hated her. Or rather, why he wanted to hate her so much. Because dislike hadn’t been the only thing he’d seen when he’d handled that pitcher.
“Not our concern.” Max shook his head. “What’s between J.D. and Remy is their business.” To Jurek, he added, “And I figured it was time they had some resolution. That’s why I called Remy in here to deal with you.”
Jurek snorted. “That, and she and J.D. are the ones who know Carter best. When I first met J.D., he was near death. Remy and her uncle were missing, and the Institute was burning down around us. There was so much chaos that night, we assumed Remy had died. We found enough evidence on one of the burned bodies to indicate Benjamin Carter’s death as well, so we closed the case.”
“Yet you’re here today,” Max murmured.
“Yes.” Jurek sighed. “From the information Brooks gave me, I think our mad Dr. Carter is still alive. I’d hoped that with your IT expert’s help, and J.D.’s, we might get some answers.” He rubbed his eyes. “Instead, I think all we have are more questions.”
J.D. passed Cole like a charging bull and left the building before he did more damage. Thankfully, Cole had had enough sense not to get involved. God knew what else he might have done. He exited the elevator of the Buchanan building into the parking garage and swore as he stalked to his car. In a burst of rage, he pounded the hood, and sparks cascaded down his fists.
Christ, he hadn’t been this out of control in years. Annoyed at his idiocy and the damage he’d done not just to Max’s office, but to his own car, he willed himself to calm down.
Remy.
He’d never thought to see her again, never thought he could see her again. He’d thought her dead. When Jurek had rescued him all those years ago, he’d been numbed by her betrayal and by the physical pain she’d inflicted to impress her fucking uncle. She’d nearly killed him that night.
But seeing her again… Her laughter and light, their shared happiness and love which had kept him going when he wanted nothing more than to fade away—it all came rushing back. Why? She’d been brutal. She’d hurt him badly. Yet he dwelled on her haunting beauty and the glow of her youth.
The truth had nearly killed him. How could she be alive? He needed to talk to Jurek again. But more, he needed to talk to her.
Why here and why now? J.D. stared unseeingly at his car.
Her pale,
flawless skin had felt like silk when he’d touched her, and her hair burned like a dark flame around delicate features. Her small frame had blossomed into a womanly fullness. Still slim, her body now boasted a woman’s hips and perfectly formed breasts he’d been helpless to ignore. And her eyes. Her eyes had been his favorite part of her. He’d once sworn he could see the sun and the stars in those clear, blue depths. But today they’d been shadowed with pain and regret. With grief.
Fuck that. It was too late for regrets.
He turned his back on the memory of her sadness and entered the car. Without thinking about it, he put his finger against the ignition and started it—just a tiny jolt of energy. Once again, he reveled in that electrical connection with all things. He readied to leave, needing to take a breather from the mess in that building, when he saw a small figure hurtle out the door into the garage.
He watched grimly as Remy jumped into a blue Jeep and shot out of the lot.
Without thinking it through, he followed her, making sure to keep back so she wouldn’t know he trailed her. He frowned when they arrived at a deserted section of the waterfront, where Remy parked and got out. He pulled behind some large water oaks and waited, watching.
She ran toward the water, looking neither left nor right.
He froze as he realized what the repercussions her electrically charged body mixed with the ocean would have—a long and painful death should she discharge her energy while submerged. He grabbed the door handle, intending to stop her.
But Remy seemed to recover herself at the same time and looked around wildly at the jumble of cars heaped in the center of the deserted, rundown lot. She flung her hands at the cars, and he watched as blue lightning snaked into the fiery pyramid of metal flesh, now smoking and sparking. The blaze roared for a few seconds, then vanished back into smoke.
Remy collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
He swallowed around a lump in his throat. Despite their troubled past, he felt the urge to run to her, to tell her that everything would be all right. In her agony he saw himself, his inability to control his power without damaging everything around him. Until she’d helped him. She’d shown him how to harness the power and use it for something positive.
And then she’d tried to kill him.
So he didn’t go to her, and he had no idea of what tomorrow might bring. He only knew that her pain tore at him until he felt his own cheeks wet with tears. Hating her for that, with an ache burning in his gut, he nonetheless waited until she scrubbed her cheeks and returned to her vehicle.
Then he followed her to a group of apartments, where she quickly disappeared.
He made a mental note of the apartment complex’s address, grudgingly admiring her for not parking below her apartment, and for the wary way she entered her place after unlocking her door…with an open palm.
She shut the door behind her. Shut the door on him.
He forced himself to ignore any wayward empathy. This time she would pay.
Elizabeth Remington Sinclair—Remy Davis—didn’t have an innocent bone in her body. Fate had dealt him a bad hand the first time around, but he vowed not to fold this time until he held the queen.
Chapter Three
Remy sighed and sought balance and tranquility in the quiet of early morning. She tried to block out all the ugliness from yesterday and looked for something good that she could once again believe in. As she searched inside herself, focusing with that inner eye she could never describe but just knew was there, she found herself hopelessly entranced by her own glow. The bright blue current surged and retreated, gentling her thrumming heart and chaotic thoughts as calmer, loving memories rose to the surface.
An image of Joshua’s blue eyes returned, and she basked in the love and comfort she’d felt so long ago. Nothing else mattered but the once-familiar feeling of being cherished and protected. She let the peace flow through her. A whisper of his hand caressed her cheek and the promise of forever sang from his deep voice and melted her resistance to everything but the scent and feel of him. Once so close, so very precious to her, he—
The pounding on a door interrupted her reverie, and she straightened with grim acceptance, ignoring her paper-thin walls. After taking a trip to the bathroom, she returned to bed and forced herself to accept she could never go back to the way things were. Time to make some new memories. This was her reality. A cracked ceiling, mismatched furniture, ratty bedsheets. Not dreams of love and happily-ever-after, no matter how good they felt.
Still, for a moment, she’d felt content. Perhaps seeing Joshua had been more beneficial than she’d thought. Yesterday she’d cried so hard her head hurt. Though their altercation had been a nightmare, in retrospect, seeing him had brought her an emotional catharsis. This morning she felt clear-headed for the first time in years.
She had a new sense of purpose. Her resolution to take charge of her life strengthened. Hiding away from her uncle forever made no sense, not if she wanted to have anything resembling a life. Joshua had moved on. He looked healthy, and from what she’d overheard Cole and the others mention about J.D. Morgan, he was a well-liked, happy guy.
Why shouldn’t she have a measure of satisfaction with her own life? She could do it. She would do it, just as soon as she figured out how to handle her next, and hopefully last, confrontation with her uncle.
Someone pounded on the door again. Her door? She winced. If she didn’t hurry and answer it, she’d hear from her neighbors. It had to be Cole checking up on her, because she couldn’t see Max stooping to something so rude as banging on her door like it was a drum. Hastily shooting out of bed, she threw on a robe and tightened the belt.
“Hold on,” she yelled and had her hand on the lock. She glanced out the peephole and froze, not knowing what to do.
Joshua.
“Open the door,” he said loudly enough to be heard.
Breathe. Think. Deal. She took a deep breath, let it out, and opened the door, not sure what to expect. But she couldn’t avoid him any longer. How could she not have known J.D. was her Joshua? She’d known Jurek was near, especially since he and Max were rivals. But she hadn’t wanted to get close, so she’d kept herself small, unobtrusive, and rarely saw anyone outside of work. Maybe some part of her had realized it was him but she hadn’t wanted the confrontation? She couldn’t say.
Her heart wrenched at the sight of his handsome face—older, but so dear. He stood still, his hands in his pockets and his gaze on her face unwavering.
“May I come in?” he asked in a quiet voice.
So no plans to fry her to a crisp today. Good to know. “Um, sure.” She stepped back and strengthened her voice. “Please, come in.”
He walked into the middle of her living room and stopped, his back to her. He appeared uncomfortable, tense. Just the way she felt. He looked around her room in silence. A plain and barely decorated room with creamy walls. Furniture that, while not new, was of decent quality. Half of it clashed, but she had always been one to treasure quality over appearance, which had made her initial attraction to Joshua so surprising. But she’d looked beyond his handsome face into his wounded eyes, and she’d known a kindred spirit.
That’s the past. Let it go, damn it. Deal with the now, Remy.
She cleared her throat and tightened the belt on her robe, determined to ignore the fact that her hair probably stood on end and she hadn’t yet brushed her teeth.
“Joshua, can I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea maybe?”
He turned to face her and answered politely, “Coffee would be fine. And the name’s J.D. now.”
Remy flushed. “I’m sorry—J.D. Give me a minute.” She walked into the kitchen and took her time preparing the coffee, giving herself a chance to think. She glanced over her shoulder and found him sitting on the couch, studying a magazine.
Ironically, she’d only purchased the magazine because the cover had reminded her of the dream house she and Joshua—J.D.—had once talked about having. A silly
thing to hold on to for years, yet she’d never been able to make herself get rid of it. She hoped he didn’t remember the discussion. How embarrassing to have him know how much she still loved him, when he could barely stand the sight of her.
She reached for two cups, concentrating on the now. She had no more room to think about what might have been, not if she wanted to get her uncle out of her life for good.
After pouring the coffee and adding cream and sugar, she set the cups on a tray and carried it with her. She tried but couldn’t stop herself from staring at him. She didn’t know what to make of this man. A far cry from the energetic boy of her youth and the out-of-control man from yesterday, this J.D. sat quietly in her house, his manner distant and subdued.
She set the tray down on her scarred coffee table, full of nervous energy. God, she felt like an idiot. “Here you go.” She placed a cup on the table in front of him, then grabbed the other for herself. She sat in a chair next to the couch and sipped her coffee, waiting for him to speak. Clearly he had an agenda or he wouldn’t be here today.
J.D. picked up his own cup, then set it back down and stared into her eyes. She thought she saw remorse, and maybe a hint of something else she couldn’t name.
“Remy—” he cleared his throat, “—I just… I didn’t mean to strike out at you yesterday. I did, but I didn’t. It was such a shock seeing you and…there’s a lot of history between us that’s not real pleasant.” His eyes burned, currents of anger and surprising need tangling with hers before he got himself back under control. “Sorry.” His cheeks pinked. “The surprise in seeing you, that’s no excuse for my actions. I’ve never hurt a woman in my entire life—well, before yesterday. You’ll never know how sorry I am that I hurt you.”
Remy stared at him in shock. After all that he believed she’d done to him in the past, he apologized to her? “An apology’s not necessary.”
He waved away her refusal. A familiar mocking glint in his eye reminded her of the boy she’d known. And that Joshua felt much more comfortable than the quiet J. D.
