by Jaime Rush
“Me, too.” She glanced at the door. “He’s very odd.”
He was more than odd, but Nicholas couldn’t really explain how. Beyond his looks, which were unusual enough. He was at least six-foot-five, with a muscular body and light skin. His slick, shaved head set off dramatic features and eyes an unusual shade of violet-blue.
Pope had approached him months before Darkwell had. If they worked together, why not tell him? Both had hired him for his skills, though Pope hadn’t said a thing about thinking they were psychic. Pope, like Darkwell, had required Nicholas to sign a sheaf of papers swearing him to secrecy, so Nicholas couldn’t even ask Darkwell about his connection with Pope. It was baffling. Disturbing.
He was staring at the door but shifted his gaze to Olivia, because he couldn’t not look at her. He was tongue-tied. They were beyond small talk, and it would come off as phony anyway.
“Don’t you want to know what they’re talking about?” he asked.
“Yes. But it’s none of our business.”
“It is my business. This whole project—”
The door opened, and Pope walked out, Darkwell not far behind him. Nicholas would find out now. Pope would say something to him.
But he didn’t. Pope gave him a look that shimmered through him, piercing him with those eyes, stilling his tongue. Nicholas could only watch him walk down the hall and disappear around the corner.
He turned to find Darkwell glowering again and realized he’d been alone with Olivia in the hallway. They certainly didn’t look flirtatious, so hopefully Olivia wouldn’t get in trouble. Darkwell gave no indication that he expected Nicholas to know Pope.
Nicholas, for his part, was more confused than ever.
Two nights later, Nicholas was trying to watch a Lost rerun in his room. Of course, the “lost” aspect of the series drew him, but his mind was on Olivia tonight. She’d obviously been avoiding him, as he hadn’t seen her since their encounter in the hallway. Which was good, he reminded himself. Very good. Now, if they could just avoid each other until he left…
His phone vibrated. Twenty-nine minutes later, he closed himself in the bathroom and turned on the water to mask his conversation.
Anyone can hear anything around here, a warning voice whispered in his head.
“Tonight’s the night,” a male voice said. Probably Rand.
“Be careful. I overheard Jerryl and Darkwell talking about Robbins. I don’t know what’s going on there. Robbins has been nervous as a rabbit hiding in a wolf’s den.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Rand said. “We’ll be in touch once we’ve talked to him.”
Nicholas flopped back on the bed and turned off the television. He kept Robbins’s face in mind. He would keep checking on him.
At first he saw Robbins sitting at a bar sipping a whiskey. Thirty minutes later, the scene was much different: a scared Robbins hunched in the back of a car, flanked by Rand and Lucas Vanderwyck. Nicholas focused harder, trying to hear what was happening. He could barely make out the muffled words.
Rand was asking Robbins, “What’s the purpose of DARK MATTER?”
“Political assassination.”
The shock of that nearly spun Nicholas out of the mission. He lost the connection but didn’t come completely out. Hold on.
The scene in the back of the car came through again, Robbins saying, “I don’t like what Darkwell’s become, what he’s doing.”
“Will you help us?” Zoe asked.
“Take me back to my house, and I’ll make you copies of the papers. What I can tell you is that Darkwell is gunning for you, and he’s getting desperate. He’s working on bringing another Offspring aboard, and he’s the reason I’m finally leaving. The last straw. He’s evil, he’s powerful, and there’s something you need to know about him.”
There was an exchange between Rand and Lucas that Nicholas couldn’t hear clearly. The gunshot and splatter of blood coming from Robbins’s chest launched Nicholas out of his session with a gasp.
No! He couldn’t breathe. My God, they killed him. He clutched his chest. It felt as though someone had smashed his rib cage. I couldn’t have been that wrong about them. With a shaky hand, he punched the CALL button on the cell phone to dial the number from which Rand had called him. No one answered.
He went into the bathroom and turned on the water. Damn them! They’d lied to him. He kept calling until one of the women answered in a breathless voice.
“Who is this?” he asked.
“Amy Shane.” One of the Rogues. “Nicholas—”
“You weren’t supposed to kill him!” He cleared the emotion from his voice. “I remote-viewed you to see what was going on. You lied—”
“Lucas never meant to kill Robbins! Someone got into his head. He just blanked out. He has no memory of shooting Robbins, and he’s torn up over it. How do we know it wasn’t you?”
“Because I can’t get into someone’s head and because I’m not a murderer.”
In a calm, low voice, she said, “Somebody did and somebody is. If you had anything to do with this…”
He hung up on her. Dammit, he didn’t know what to believe. He sank to the bed, his head pounding. A man was dead, and he was responsible. What had Robbins said? That DARK MATTER was about political assassination. That Darkwell was bringing in another Offspring. A dangerous Offspring.
The sound of three sharp knocks on his door jarred him. With one hand to his chest, which was so tight it ached, he stumbled to the door.
Jerryl stood there, his arms crossed over his ripped bare chest. He was going to step into the room, but Nicholas remained in his way. Jerryl leaned to the right and looked behind Nicholas. “Thought I heard you talking to someone.”
“Television.” He could barely push out words. “What do you want?”
“I know what you’re up to, Braden.”
Fear spiked in his chest, and he fought to keep it from his expression. “Meaning?”
“Were you remote-viewing just now?”
Nicholas didn’t like the look in his predatory eyes. As if he knew. “You think I do that in my spare time for fun?”
Jerryl stared at him, studying him as though he were a squirming insect stuck through with a pin. “Could be lots of reasons you’d do it.”
Nicholas kept his expression passive. “None that I can think of. I was about ready to hit it, so…’ Night,” he added to sound normal.
He closed the door and locked it, remaining there for a minute. No sound of retreating footsteps. Just when he thought he must have missed them, he heard Jerryl finally return to his room.
He was on to Nicholas. Which meant he’d been in that car, too. What had Amy accused Nicholas of? Getting into Lucas’s head. He’d denied it without even realizing what he was saying.
Then he remembered what he’d overheard when Jerryl was about to go on a mission. Now, find Eric Aruda. Get into his head and quickly dispatch anyone in his vicinity. We want him to take out his comrades.
His legs went weak, and he stumbled to the bed. Hell. Jerryl could mind-control. And if he could do it to the Rogues, he could do it to Nicholas, too.
Gerard Darkwell was backing up his computer files in the study of his home when his cell phone rang. The number on the screen indicated Jerryl. Either trouble or news. His chest tightened as he engaged the call.
“Sir, it’s Jerryl.” His voice sounded rushed, excited. “I’ve been checking on Robbins, as you asked.”
Robbins’s usual reticence had turned to caginess in recent days, sending up Gerard’s antenna. He’d had a feeling Robbins would eventually outlive his usefulness and become a problem.
Jerryl went on. “Robbins is with the Rogues.”
“What?”
“I think they nabbed him. He looks scared. I saw Rand and Amy Shane, then I lost the connection.”
“All the Rogues would have to do is poke Robbins, and he’ll spill everything. Get into Eric’s head and take him out.”
“I zeroed
in on him next, and he’s not in the same car.”
“Try to get into someone else’s head. I’ll work on another angle.” He disconnected and put in a call to the warden at Gainesville Correctional Institution. “I need to talk to inmate Sayre Andrus. It’s urgent government business.”
“Hold for a moment, sir.”
Several agonizing minutes went by. Finally, that Southern drawl and childlike insouciance. “Howdy ho, what can I do for you, sir?”
Andrus intended no respect with his address. Gerard didn’t care at the moment.
“Remember I told you I’d be giving you a test assignment? I’ve got one. Stay on the line and do it now. You get to take out a CIA agent, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Sounds yummy. Gimme his name.”
“Sam Robbins. You told me you can possess someone when he’s asleep, but also when he’s stressed or in a fearful state. That’s where Robbins is now.”
“I need to get into your head.”
Gerard twitched in alarm. “My head?”
“I need a touchstone, something that connects me to that person. That’s you. You’re gonna have to open that steel-trap mind of yours. Little pig, little pig, let me come in.” After a pause, he said, “How bad you want this guy?”
Gerard had been taught long ago how to shield his mind from probing psychic vibes. Back when rumors of the Soviets psychic programs had spurred the U.S. government to do the same, top personnel had been trained to block their minds. Gerard didn’t want to let Andrus in—he had apparently already tried to get into his mind—but he had to stop Robbins.
“All right.”
“Put a picture of the son of a bitch in your head and hold it.”
Gerard closed his eyes. An icy feeling touched the back of his neck, right under the base of his skull. He held the image of Robbins while a cold probe poked through his brain.
What if he…?
He stopped the thought. Can’t let him sense my fear.
The feeling disappeared. Gerard felt relief for a second before launching into waiting mode. He hated waiting. Dammit, if only he’d been blessed with a psychic ability, he could take care of this himself. He hated depending on others. He hated the envy he felt every time he watched one of his subjects slip into the ether, a place unknowable to him.
Gerard suspected Andrus’s skills, based on his heritage, could include dream interception. He had confirmed that in their discussions. It explained why the guards and other prisoners thought Andrus practiced black magic and could get into their dreams. And why one prisoner, after threatening Andrus, had hanged himself.
Andrus was going to be the key to finally destroying the Rogues. Once everything was in place, he had a plan to take care of all of them at once.
His cell phone rang. Jerryl.
“What happened?” he answered. No patience for a greeting.
“Holy shit…sir. You’re not going to believe this. Lucas was there. I thought he was dead.”
“Lucas? Are you sure?” How had he survived? He’d been at death’s door when his comrades had rescued him. Getting the last injection of the Booster should have done him in. Then he’d gotten shot in the chest when they’d rescued Rand two weeks ago. Even if he could have gotten medical treatment, which was doubtful, no way could he be out and about so soon.
“I’m positive, sir. But that’s not the incredible part. Lucas shot him.”
“Shot Robbins?”
“Which doesn’t make sense because Robbins was about to tell them about an Offspring, whatever that is. Why kill him before he’d told them everything?”
Gerard smiled. Andrus. Had to be.
“There’s more. I sensed someone else remote-viewing. I immediately went next door. Nicholas denied it, but I saw a speck of alarm in his eyes when I accused him.”
“Good job.”
Someone was calling his name. Andrus on the main phone line. Gerard signed off with Jerryl and said to Andrus, “Nice work.”
“How did you know—?”
“Now that you’ve proven yourself, I’ll begin the paperwork to transfer you. But I imagine you have a question for me.”
“Bet your ass I do.”
Gerard sat back and began to spin a story.
CHAPTER 9
Olivia’s official duties at the CIA took up much of her time in the last few days, which was perfect considering it didn’t give her much of a chance to see Nicholas. She spent Friday morning at Langley taking care of her administrative tasks. Like her father, she had to cram in her regular duties on top of DARK MATTER’s. It was an unofficial program, so she wasn’t supposed to mention it to anyone. Unofficial, or as he’d explained, he was expanding on an official program because the CIA wouldn’t give him the resources he needed. Before Nicholas’s probing, she hadn’t thought to question it herself. Now it seemed a bit odd. Why couldn’t the director at least know about the program?
“Hi, Olivia,” a woman called out from down the hall. “We’ve got to get together for a drink again. Call me.” She disappeared into one of the rooms.
She and Theresa had gone out once, but all the woman was interested in was her career. Olivia felt no connection to her or any of the women she’d met at work. She had no girlfriends to confide in, but she hoped that would soon change. She was new to the “yoga class” she attended, but the mix of strong, interesting women there spurred her need for female friendship.
Walking down the hall, she passed an office with an open door and nearly ran into someone in front of her when she did a double take. The man sitting in the office was Harry Peterson. He’d worked at the asylum and had taken a bullet to the hip when the Rogues had broken in to rescue Rand Brandenburg.
“Harry?”
He looked up from the paperwork on the desk and gave her a polite smile. “Olivia, right?”
He wasn’t sure what her name was? She sank down on the plastic chair in front of his desk, dumbfounded. When the Rogues broke Lucas out, Harry had implored her to hide the unused syringe so her father would think Lucas had gotten whatever it contained. She’d covered for Harry because he was a good guy, and she knew he’d get into big trouble. Now he hardly knew her.
“How are you? I tried to visit you at the hospital, but none in the area had any record of you being there. I thought you’d be out for a while.”
He gave her a curious smile. “Hospital?”
She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “You were shot in the hip.”
“You must have me mistaken for someone else. I was never shot.”
For a moment she questioned her sanity, of all damned things. But he was Harry Peterson. He had been shot.
“It was only two and a half weeks ago. I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing you lying on the floor, blood oozing onto the linoleum…” Her stomach lurched at the memory. She still felt the fear and anger that had bombarded her.
He rose to his feet, agitation crossing his face. “I wasn’t shot.”
She stood, too. “I put pressure on the bullet wound to staunch the bleeding.”
“What are you talking about?”
“At the asylum, where we worked together.”
His chuckle was uneasy. “You’ve made a mistake. I would have remembered working with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to finish this report.”
She was still mulling it over when she returned to the estate later that afternoon, but it was giving her a headache. She had better things to think about.
Darkwell’s door opened, and he peered out. “Tell the contractors to come here in five minutes. I have an announcement.”
She knocked on Nicholas’s door first. He answered, and darned if she didn’t feel that hiccup in her heartbeat. His dark hair was mussed, as though he’d been working on a difficult problem. Or, taking in the rest of him, as though a difficult problem had been taking on him. His eyes were bloodshot, brow furrowed. Something was heavy in his heart, something that had obviously kept him up all night.
<
br /> “You all right?” she asked.
He shook his head, indicating he couldn’t talk about it. He was in pain. She could see it in his eyes and the heaviness around his mouth. She wanted to press, to offer comfort. Being away from him these past days hadn’t lessened the intensity of her feelings. If anything, they were even more intense.
She took one step into the doorway. “Okay, you win.”
“I win?”
“You convinced me with that question about what I’d do to find out information about my mother. An underhanded tactic, to be sure. But I would do anything to know about her, to know why she abandoned me and my father.” Her lower lip had trembled on those last words, betraying the anger she tried to tamp down. She’d never been allowed to talk about her mother; her father had dismissed her as though she’d never existed. But she had created Olivia, and she needed to find out what kind of woman could leave her baby. She cleared her throat, and the ball of fury lodged there. “I’ll get you a copy of the folder.” She stepped back out into the hallway, her voice back to business. “Darkwell wants to see everyone in his office in five minutes.”
“Why?” The question was filled with suspicion.
“An announcement.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what it is.”
She started to turn away, but he touched her arm. Just that touch, barely a touch, really, and her body stopped instantly, straining to do more than turn and face him.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t feel great about it, but she did feel right about it. She looked down at his fingers on her skin, not wanting to leave. With a nod, she forced herself to continue toward Fonda’s room. The door popped open, as though Fonda had been standing there waiting for the knock. Even though she was barely over five feet, there was nothing little about her. Fluffy ash-blond hair that curled up where it reached past her shoulders set off enormous brown eyes made larger by charcoal eyeliner and shimmering shadow. Her teal shirt hung off one soft shoulder, and black leggings hugged her slim waist and legs. Incongruously, she wore black combat boots with stickers portraying a pink cat with x’s over its eyes. She looked like she’d walked out of an eighties music video.
