by Jaime Rush
“And the Offspring chick.” Eric looked at Nicholas. “Fonda, right? Didn’t you say she’s tight with Jerryl? And fierce?”
Nicholas reluctantly nodded. “But without Jerryl, she’ll probably fade away.”
Eric rolled his eyes before settling his gaze on him. “So, what, that’s going to be another restriction before you tell us where this place is?”
He met his hard gaze. “Yes.”
Petra said, “He’s being chivalrous. You wouldn’t know what that is, Eric, but it’s a good thing. I don’t think any of us likes killing people, except maybe you.”
Rand pushed his plate away. “Even killing the badasses is hard. When I shot the assassin Darkwell sent after us, it made me sick. I was taking a life. I’d do it again to save any one of us, but it tore me up.”
Zoe leaned her cheek against his arm. Just that simple gesture tugged at Nicholas. Images flashed through his mind, kissing Olivia, touching the scar on her temple. Which reminded him…
“Eric, you coldcocked a woman at the asylum when you broke in to rescue Lucas.”
He didn’t look the least bit remorseful. “Yeah.”
Nicholas wanted to slam his nose for the scar he’d left on her and for his smugness. He pushed past that to something more important than caveman thinking. “She’s one of those innocent people. I don’t want her hurt, got it?” No way would he tell them she was Darkwell’s daughter.
Eric gave him a smart-assed salute. “Yes, sir.”
“I’ll check out the estate to see what kind of security he’s got in place. I don’t want any of you to rush in and get killed, either.”
After breakfast, Nicholas reclined on the couch and closed his eyes. He insisted that the lights be dimmed, ostensibly to focus. Even with people who were different, too, he wanted privacy.
He knew Jerryl could sense remote viewers, so he had to stay above the estate. He pulled out a few seconds later. “Just like I thought, he’s got several guards outside now.”
Eric turned up the lights, pushed up from the sofa, and stalked into the kitchen. “Remember what Robbins told us: Darkwell is bringing in the most dangerous Offspring yet. And Jerryl’s bad enough. We can’t afford to delay our offensive much longer.”
Nicholas could understand Amy’s comment about Eric going off half-cocked. “We’re not going to accomplish anything if we get killed going in. Darkwell’s expecting us. It’s suicide.”
Lucas sighed. “He’s right. So we wait and see.”
Petra nervously combed her fingers through her long hair. “The other night I thought I felt one of them—probably Jerryl, since he’s always been able to view me easily. I didn’t say anything because maybe it was nothing.”
Nicholas saw the alarm on all of their faces. They simultaneously turned to him.
“I haven’t heard anything about them getting through the shield, but they didn’t tell me everything.”
Petra started braiding her hair. “Cheveyo said his protection would only last so long. He said they would get stronger.”
Nicholas asked, “Who is Cheveyo exactly?”
Petra’s eyes glittered. “He’s an Offspring, too, and he’s the one who put the protective shield over the tomb. He helps us when we need it, but he stays at a distance.”
Eric walked back into the living room with a glass of milk so cold there was a ring of ice around the edge. He leaned down into Nicholas’s face. “Why don’t you just tell us where he is?”
“When we’re ready.” Nicholas trusted them, but only up to a point. “What if I give you Darkwell’s home address?” The man had to be eliminated. At least Olivia would be spared any direct violence.
“It’s a start,” Eric said.
The lights dimmed, and Nicholas sank into the ether again, picturing Darkwell’s face. He sat up a minute later, shaking his head. “He’s got some kind of block around him.”
Eric narrowed his eyes. “Did you really try or did you pretend like you did with Wallace?”
Nicholas tilted his head, taking Lucas’s cue not to let Eric ruffle him. “I tried.”
Lucas said, “Remember, when we remote-viewed the asylum, Jerryl could bounce us out.”
“Yeah, but there wasn’t a shield.”
Nicholas said, “What I felt was solid, like the shield that’s over this place.”
Lucas nodded toward the computer room. “We’ve already looked online and couldn’t find anything about the Darkwells. Their properties are probably in some kind of trust. Let’s check the estate in two days. Then we’ll make a plan.”
Nicholas sketched the estate’s layout, and they threw some ideas around.
Zoe rubbed the back of her neck. A tattoo on the inside of her wrist speared Nicholas’s attention. “What’s that?” He walked closer and gestured for her to hold out her hand.
“It’s our tattoo. We call it the Blue Eye.” Lucas unbuttoned his shirt to show he had one over his heart. “Zoe came up with it. She’s a tattoo artist. The eye is for BLUE EYES, the original project name. The O of the eye is for Offspring, and the R in the pupil is for Rogues. We all have one.”
Nicholas turned to Zoe. “Where’d you get the idea for this?”
Her smile faded at the intensity of his question. “I dreamed it one night. I saw the eye and the slashes in the iris which I thought looked like an R. Why?”
“I’ve seen this before. Are you sure you haven’t?”
“Not unless it was subconscious, but I’m pretty sure I’d remember it.”
He told them how Pope had approached him about searching for classified items. He’d been sworn to secrecy, but now that Pope was affiliated with the enemy, Nicholas had no compunction about sharing the information. Not that he really knew much anyway. “Three missions were to find these bracelets made from some kind of strange gray metal with what I thought were gems embedded in them. I couldn’t imagine why the government cared about them.”
He shrugged. “But they were paying me, and it sounded like it was very important that he find them. One mission was to locate the wreckage of an experimental aircraft. I only found one piece, but he seemed pleased about it. He didn’t ask me to find anything else, and we left.” Nicholas nodded to the tattoo on Lucas’s chest. “That was on the piece of metal I found.”
No one spoke for several seconds.
Zoe rubbed the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. “Well, I sure as heck haven’t seen any experimental aircraft.”
Nicholas had a strange feeling about this. He couldn’t tell if it was foreboding or if they were on the edge of something big. “Pope watched me as though he expected me to say something about it. The big question is, how did Zoe come to dream it?”
Eric looked at his tattoo, his brows furrowed. “You mean we might have some government insignia on us?”
Nicholas shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
Tuesday night Darkwell returned to the estate with Sayre Andrus and two armed men, both former prison guards. He’d beefed up security around the grounds, too, though that was mostly for the Rogues.
“Your quarters are this way.”
“Ooh, quarters. Sounds impressive.” Andrus’s greedy gaze took in the luxurious surroundings as they walked from the kitchen to the winding staircase. Darkwell hadn’t brought him in through the front entrance.
“They’re in the attic.” No need to let him think he was more than a prisoner. “But I think you’ll find them comfortable, considering where you’ve been living.”
“I’m here for four months,” he said as they walked up the stairs. “Doing whatever it is you got me doing.” He made quotes with his hands, the chains between his wrists jangling: “Top secret shit. And then you’re going to work on extending my stay indefinitely.”
“Right.” But that would fall through, sadly enough. Gerard had a feeling four months would accomplish everything he needed, then he’d dump the guy back into the system. Or, if necessary, dump him permanently. He couldn
’t take the chance of Andrus’s talking to anyone in prison about what he’d been doing.
Andrus’s ankle chains had been removed. Gerard didn’t think the guy would run now, if he was entertaining the thought at all. He was getting paid a lot of money in addition to relative freedom, but he wasn’t getting a cent until he’d completed his work.
Andrus stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down. “Purdy place you got here. CIA must pay good.”
Before anyone could react, he’d planted his hands on the banister, slung one leg over, and slid down, letting out, “Wheeeeeeee!” One guard ran down the stairs. The other jumped over the banister and, like a cat, landed on his feet at the same time Andrus reached the bottom. Andrus didn’t sprint, though. He let out a joyful holler that was cut off when the guard tackled him. Both men landed on the marble floor, and the third guard took a stance, gun aimed at the scuffle.
Except Andrus wasn’t fighting. In fact, he was laughing so hard his legs had pulled up into a fetal position. He let the guard jerk him to his feet.
“Hey, was just having some fun.” He looked up at Gerard. “You ever done that when you was a kid?”
“No.”
“Too bad. That was crazy, man. Crazy.”
The guard pushed him back to the stairs.
Andrus gave him a broad smile that reminded Gerard of a kid’s when they reached the top. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“You could have been shot.”
Andrus’s smile mellowed to something smugger. “You wouldn’t shoot me. You need me.”
“I might not have shot you, but these men would. They have orders. You pull anything strange, and they take you out. Got it?”
The man’s smile didn’t waver a bit. “Maybe you’d better outline what, exactly, they consider strange. I don’t want to get blown away ’cause I scratched my ass.”
Gerard nodded for the men to lead Andrus forward.
Other than the rumors and insinuations, Andrus had been a model prisoner since his incarceration a year ago. The warden told Gerard that Andrus was polite and cooperated, though his streak of cockiness and an irreverent sense of humor grated. When one prisoner’s body had been carried out, Andrus had been making a trumpet sound with his lips, doing “Taps.”
When they reached the end of the hallway, Gerard opened the door and nodded for one guard to precede Andrus. The second guard would walk up behind them. Someone’s footsteps—probably Andrus’s—clunked up the wooden stairs.
In the past, these quarters had been used for the staff. He had, of course, secured them with bars on the small windows even though the drop would kill most men. Andrus wasn’t most men, though, and Gerard was taking no chances. The door leading downstairs was replaced by a metal one, which would be guarded twenty-four/seven.
Once they reached the top of the stairs, Gerard stepped to the fore. “There are three rooms up here. You may use all of them as one space. One for your living area, in which I’ve installed a couch and television, one as a kitchen, which has been rudimentarily equipped, and one for your bedroom.”
He was already exploring the room like an eager kid, opening doors and flopping on the couch, only to leap off again. “Windows! I get windows!” He ducked into the living room.
The guards reacted instantly, chasing him in, guns still at the ready. Gerard waved them back.
Andrus stood at the window and closed his eyes to the moonlight that was streaming in, a look of bliss on his face. He spun around, oblivious to the guards’ alertness, and inspected the room. “I’ll need cleaning supplies. A vacuum cleaner, duster.” He swiped a finger across the coffee table and inspected it.
“Everything you need is already in the kitchen cabinets.”
He knew about Andrus’s obsession for cleanliness and order. His cell was impeccably kept, and he demanded stain-free uniforms.
Andrus walked down the hallway and into the next room, his makeshift kitchen. He opened cabinets as a child opens Christmas presents. When he found the cleansers, he pulled them all out, reading the labels. “Green. Good for the Earth. This one, no good. Pine-scented. Hate pine scent. No scent at all.” He shoved it at Gerard, who had to take it lest it fall to the floor.
Andrus was already looking at the next product. “Acceptable. Good. Acceptable.” One by one, he sorted them, so quickly his hands were a blur.
He shoved three more bottles to the end of the counter. “No good.”
The guards watched, incredulous, but Gerard kept his expression passive.
“Do I get a computer?” Andrus asked.
“No. But if you tell me your reading tastes, I’ll arrange for you to have books and movies to occupy your free time. There’s a phone. When you pick it up, you’ll be put through to my phone. That’s the only call you can make from here. If you wish to call anyone else—”
He stopped his perusal of the rest of the cabinets. “Got no one to call. My parents are dead.”
“I know.”
They had testified during his trial, and it hadn’t been very complimentary. His mother claimed her adopted son had gotten into her dreams. Though she hated pickles, she would wake in the night choking on them. Then the next day he’d sniff the air. “I smell pickles. Isn’t that odd?” Night after night she dreamed he was drowning her in her claw-foot tub. His father had told the police about a smart-assed comment Andrus made when he’d asked his son if he’d killed another woman who’d died in his apartment complex: “What would you do if I told you yes? Turn me in?”
That was a key piece of evidence, even if it didn’t pertain to that trial, and probably what turned the jury against him.
Sometime after his conviction, his mother had drowned in her bathtub.
Gerard wasn’t fooled by Andrus’s childlike enthusiasm or his quirky tendencies. He had most likely killed a woman so viciously her neck was broken. From Andrus’s files, one thing was clear: You didn’t piss off Sayre Andrus.
CHAPTER 17
Nicholas woke at three in the morning. He didn’t let himself think about Olivia, instead wracking his brain as to exactly where he’d seen the eye. Those four missions with Pope had been a whirlwind, hours spent tromping through the woods, more hours driving on rural roads and highways alike. He couldn’t remember what he’d found at each location or exactly where he’d gone. He remote-viewed his house. Seeing the place and all his treasures made him homesick. His life had been so simple when he’d packed up and left.
He moved into his office and tried to focus on the map dotted with more than a hundred pins, some through his job at the salvage company, some with Bone Finders, and some on his own. He used red pins for government work. Which search had found the piece with the eye?
He took note of where the four red pins were and wrote them down when he pulled out. He went upstairs to find a map. When he stepped into the living area, he stopped at the sight of Lucas furiously sketching at his easel. Except that his eyes were blank, as though he were doing it in his sleep. Or being possessed. Amy watched him with a tense expression. She pressed her finger over her mouth and nodded for him to join her in the kitchen.
“One of the ways Lucas’s premonitions come out is through sketches. He doesn’t remember doing them.” She looked over at him. “I’ve never seen him do one. It’s a bit eerie, like he’s not in there. Like when he shot Robbins. But I know this is different. He’s saved people’s lives, trying to figure out who’s going to commit the crime and stopping him.” Her eyes hadn’t left Lucas. “If they come every night for four nights, whatever he’s drawn comes true on the fifth day.”
She returned to Lucas’s side, hovering like a mother bird. Nicholas followed, looking at the sketch in a new way. It came to life under Lucas’s jagged, hurried movements. A woman standing alone. A man behind her, and even as rough as the sketch was, Nicholas could see his menacing intent.
Lucas set down his pencil and slipped down from his chair to lie on the floor. Amy cradled his head in her lap,
stroking his hair. Now her gaze was on the sketch, though, and her expression was even more concerned.
“He’s seen one of us being murdered,” she whispered. “But I can’t tell which one.”
The woman’s hair was only a mess of lines and shadows, and she had no face.
“If he does another sketch tomorrow night, we’ll find out more. And we’ll be one day closer to its happening.”
“What if we all stay here on the fifth day? Aren’t we safe?”
She shook her head. “We don’t know what this other Offspring Robbins was going to tell us about can do. Or how long we have until they can penetrate our shield. Once they do that, they can get to us anywhere.”
A cold chill shivered down his spine.
Sayre woke from an erotic dream.
“Damn, my junk’s all hard, and no one to use it on.”
He’d taken care of himself in prison, but he was tired of handling it on his own.
It was about the woman again, the one he’d been dreaming of since he’d poked into Darkwell’s head. She was connected to him in some way. He always had a connection to his dream victims.
He stood by the barred window, rubbing his hands together. “Come to me, baby.”
In the dreams, he seduced her, slowly, sweetly, and then he slipped his hands around her throat and took her in the deepest way a man can take a woman. Far deeper than sex.
He’d only killed out of anger. His first victim he’d maimed. She was a lovely blonde he’d dated while in college. She’d dumped him, admitting she’d used him to get his help in biology. Pissed him off big-time. He wanted her to suffer like he was suffering every time he saw her with her new boyfriend, when she gave him a smug look. He’d been getting into his mother’s dreams for a while, but he’d never tried to get into anyone else’s dreams. Why not give it a shot?
He got in, all right, and saw her bedroom, her boyfriend lying beside her, everything through her eyes. He was her. He could feel the covers and the chill in the air.