Beyond Fearless

by Rebecca York

  How could I lie to you now?

  I guess you can’t. What did I call you?

  Mac. You said Zach wasn’t a proper name.

  She winced, because she remembered how high-handed she’d been.

  He cupped her breasts, bringing her back to the intensity of the present.

  BILL Cody walked down the dock like he belonged there. Maybe he was a kid delivering a message to someone on one of the boats. Or maybe he was the chicken hawk fucking one of the sailors. He didn’t care what anyone thought—as long as nobody questioned his presence there.

  His footsteps grew quiet as he neared the boat into which Anna Ridgeway and the man had disappeared. The Odysseus.

  The dive boat where the crew had quit.

  Creeping closer, he heard their heavy breathing. Heard the rustle of clothing, and he knew what they were doing.

  Fucking.

  Good.

  That would keep them occupied for a while—long enough for him to get instructions from Jim Stone.

  LOST in that magic that he and Anna made together, Zach gathered her close, kissing her deeply, drinking from her essence as they swayed together.

  She eased her head away, looking at him with large, luminous eyes, and he saw the mixture of his own emotions echoed there.

  He had always been alone. Always alone. Except for the playmate he had conjured up. Or maybe she had reached out to him. That seemed the likely scenario.

  Why did you leave me?

  I don’t know. I lost you, and I couldn’t find you again.

  With those silent words came profound sadness. He remembered something then. He’d been very sick. With scarlet fever. He’d never been that sick before or since. He’d been lying in bed with a raging fever, out of his head—having hallucinations. And when he’d gotten his mind back, his friend had been gone. He’d tried to reach her, but the connection had snapped. And finally he’d made himself forget the pain of the loss of her.

  She picked all that up from him in an instant, her eyes wide.

  I was in Maryland. You were in Montana. A long way away.

  And now…?

  And now they gazed at each other, both unsteady on their feet, both coping with what must be their shared past—and their present. Tangled together in ways they didn’t understand.

  Before he fell over and embarrassed himself, he moved his mouth to hers while he lowered her to the bed and followed her down.

  She never lifted her mouth from his as they tumbled together onto the blue duvet. The way she responded to him made his head spin. And he didn’t just sense her arousal; he felt it as she felt it, his mind capturing the sensations heating her from the inside out.

  He’d already discovered that it was the same for her. She was in his head, too. Sharing his physical responses as he shared hers.

  He groaned, caught up in his needs—and hers.

  She wanted him to touch her breast again. Easing his chest away from hers, he rolled them to their sides, then lowered his head, swirling his tongue around one of her nipples, then sucking it into his mouth as he brought his thumb and finger to its mate, pulling and squeezing, knowing just how strongly she wanted him to do it.

  He felt her pleasure as he heard her breath catch, felt her arch into the caress.

  He wanted more. Needed more.

  More. More.

  The urgency wrapped itself around them, making it hard for him to breathe. Hard to think.

  Yet at the edge of the pleasure, something prickled in his brain. Danger. His mind screamed danger. Not from without. From their minds—probing at each other. Making connections. Forging new circuits—and maybe burning them out.

  What’s happening?

  The silent question was like a gasp in his mind.

  Too much! She answered her own question, her hand pressing against his shoulder.

  Not enough, he countered.

  To his relief, he felt her surrender to the power of the moment.

  To the power of their mutual need.

  Reaching down, she clasped his cock again, and he knew she was deliberately exploring what the intimate touch felt like to him.

  He wanted that, too. Wanted to touch her intimately and at the same time know what she felt when he did it. His hand slid down her body, and his fingers parted her slick, swollen folds, lingering there before dipping inside her.

  She gasped, moving her hips to create friction, but it wasn’t enough. Not for either one of them.

  I need…

  Yes.

  He circled her clit with one finger, then circled the finger just inside the sensitive opening of her vagina, sending jolts of heat through her—and through himself.

  He didn’t have to tell her it was time. He knew neither of them could wait a second longer for this.

  She rolled to her back and opened her legs for him. He knelt between her thighs, then plunged forward. There was no need to guide him to the right place. He knew exactly where to find that delicious opening.

  Yet he sensed her fear—and his. And the fear was as great as the pleasure. As he slipped inside, heat lightning flared within his head, sending sparks crackling through his senses.

  And he realized in that moment of joining that he would lose his mind if he didn’t finish this with her.

  Or maybe it was the other way around.

  She pushed at his shoulder again, trying to pull away. Mentally. Physically. Her fear came through to him, loud and clear. She wanted to stop.

  No! he silently shouted. Stay with me. For God’s sake, stay with me. Not just your body, but your mind.

  When he heard her silent protest, he steadied himself—steadied her.

  Trust me.

  The classic male cliché. Yet he knew it was true. Knew it to the marrow of his bones.

  He felt her shudder, felt her settle into the rhythm of sex—their hips moving in concert, both of them pushing toward orgasm.

  As he climbed toward that peak of sensation, he felt the pain in his brain recede to a level he could push aside.

  There was only room for the hot, greedy desire created by the friction of their bodies and the joining of their minds.

  I need.

  Yes.

  He reached between them, pressing his fingers over her clit, giving her the extra jolt of stimulation that would push her over the edge.

  His own orgasm was only seconds away. And he knew that she sensed that peak, felt her lifting her hips, pushing to join him.

  The first spasm of release took him. Hot semen pumped through his cock and into her as climax took them both.

  He shouted in satisfaction. Shouted in shock as the fury of it claimed him.

  Never like this.

  Never.

  He cradled her against himself, absorbing new truths.

  What happened?

  We can talk to each other. In our minds.

  How?

  We must have done it when we were kids. Long ago. Somehow we connected back then. Now it happened when we made love. Well, when we got…aroused.

  But now it’s stronger…deeper. A connection between adults—not children.

  He laughed, pressing as far as he could inside her.

  She reached to stroke damp hair back from his forehead, then locked her arms around his shoulders, holding him where he was.

  The feeling of closeness was incredible.

  Yes.

  Now we’re…

  Complete.

  And nothing can separate us again.

  Yet the wondrous result of their joining brought something else. In that moment of deepest intimacy, they sensed something bad, something hovering just outside their range of perception.

  Someone had been following her. Now the stalker wanted to know what they’d been doing. And he would kill them if he knew that they’d been making love.

  The thought was ridiculous on the surface. Who would react that way to their private liaison?

  Neither one of them made a conscious decision. Y
et both of them instantly joined their minds, broadcasting a lie to whoever might be listening.

  We haven’t done anything physical. We’re just talking. We’re just friends.

  Because their bodies were so intimately linked, they could send out that message together. They repeated it more than once, both of them squeezing their eyes shut and linking their hands tightly in concentration.

  It was hard to do. Especially when they didn’t know if they were really sending a message or just fooling themselves.

  When their heads began to ache, they stopped and looked at each other.

  “That was weird,” Zach murmured. “Why did we do that?”

  “It seemed important,” she whispered.

  It didn’t seem important now. Looking down at Anna’s body glued to his, Zach laughed. “Just friends, yeah.”

  “Oh my.” The idea was so absurd that she joined in the laughter, shaking the two of them apart. For a few moments, their focus had been turned outward. Now it snapped back to this time. This place. Them.

  Something had happened between them. Something Zach couldn’t describe or explain to anyone else in the world.

  Soul mates, she whispered in his mind.

  The concept startled him. It was too new. Too strange. But when he turned it around in his mind, it felt right. Especially since he was sure now that they had reached out to each other long ago.

  Who would understand it?

  Only another couple like the two of them.

  Were there any others like them?

  Or were they alone?

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  FROM HIS HIDEOUT in West Virginia, Jordan Walker stared at the computer screen.

  Dead end. Again.

  After he’d lost Anna Ridgeway’s trail, he’d put in a phone call to her agent and been told that her schedule was private.

  He snorted. Private! What entertainer didn’t want people to know where she was going to be?

  Unless…

  He stood up and paced the office, trying to hold back his frustration. But he knew it was rolling off him in waves when his wife, Lindsay, came to the door, a worried look on her face.

  What’s wrong?

  Has Jim Swift found us?

  They knew he’d changed his name, because he’d disappeared, but several deaths around the country had clued them in that he must still be hunting Dariens—their word for the other people like themselves, who were born as part of an experiment at the Remington Clinic in Darien, Connecticut.

  Jordan reached for his wife and pulled her close, letting her know in every way available to him that they were safe.

  It’s Anna Ridgeway, Lindsay whispered in his mind, answering her own question.

  Yeah. I can’t find her. She’s disappeared off the face of the earth.

  They didn’t have to speak to each other out loud to communicate. Since they’d discovered the special link they shared, they’d become very good at sending their thoughts back and forth and increasing their psychic ability.

  But worry sent words tumbling from Lindsay’s mouth. “You think she’s dead?”

  “Not dead. In trouble,” he answered.

  He pulled Lindsay more tightly against his body, the contact comforting them both. But it was more than comfort he felt. The closeness brought sexual awareness that sparked back and forth between them. It was part of the equation, part of what made them what they were.

  But they had learned to make the sexual need work for them. It had triggered their mental powers, and it still helped fuel the psychic bond the two of them generated.

  Jordan turned his head so he could stroke his lips against Lindsay’s cheek, and she slid her fingers against his broad shoulders.

  For the first thirty-three years of his life, Jordan had been alone. So had Lindsay. More alone than any human being should be. He’d thought he was defective in some way. Apart from the human race.

  Then he’d met Lindsay, and he’d connected with her—mind to mind—in a way that was impossible for ordinary people.

  The joy of finding each other had been dulled by the knowledge that they were being hunted by Kurt MacArthur, the head of a powerful Washington think tank called the Crandall Consortium.

  They’d thought MacArthur and the rest of his top lieutenants were dead. Then they’d realized that one of them, Jim Swift, had escaped and was searching for them.

  Jordan and Lindsay were well hidden. Nobody in rural West Virginia where they were living had a clue about their real identities.

  They’d both sold their D.C. condos and hidden the money trail, using a new last name, Jordan and Lindsay West.

  Jordan had also continued his writing career, switching from nonfiction to fiction, using the real-life stories he’d investigated as a jumping-off point for creating plots that would fit into today’s popular fiction market.

  His agent, who was keeping his identity secret, had gotten Jordan a contract on the basis of a proposal. And they’d also contacted Lindsay’s parents, who had helped them out with some cash that couldn’t be traced.

  But their real job was trying to save the other people like themselves. They’d thought they had a list of the other Dariens, but the data had been corrupted.

  Now they were reduced to tracking their fellows down using their Web skills—and their own psychic talents.

  They were sure Jim Swift had already killed several of them. But he was proceeding slowly. So they assumed he didn’t have the list, either.

  It was a good bet that Anna Ridgeway was one of the children from the experiment. And also that she’d tried to disappear. Because she knew Jim Swift was on her trail? Or was something else dangerous going on in her life?

  In their research, they’d also discovered something very interesting about Anna—she didn’t just have latent psychic talent; she was already using her mental powers. At least, she was using one ability, psychometry, since she supported herself with a nightclub act where she picked up memories from objects she touched.

  She must be very strong, Lindsay whispered into Jordan’s mind.

  Yeah. But that won’t save her if Jim Swift is after her.

  Jordan closed his eyes and slipped his hand under the bulky sweater his wife was wearing, caressing her warm skin.

  Do you think we can find out where she is?

  I hope so.

  Lindsay joined her hands behind Jordan’s back, pressing against him, and he felt the link between them deepen.

  After a few moments of silence, Lindsay said, She’s on a boat.

  Yeah.

  And I think…

  Jordan was the one who said it aloud. “Yeah. She’s found another Darien.”

  Elation spiraled through them.

  Who is he? Jordan asked.

  I wish I could bring that into focus.

  I wish we knew where they were.

  Somewhere warm, I think.

  So not around here, where we’re stuck in the middle of a cold, nasty winter. California? Florida?

  Maybe the Caribbean, Lindsay answered.

  Why do you think so?

  The color of the water.

  We’ll keep trying to get a closer fix on them.

  BILL Cody stepped from the afternoon sun and into the shadow of a warehouse and pulled out the secure cell phone that Jim Stone had given him.

  He wasn’t supposed to make a call unless it was an emergency, but he was sure this situation qualified.

  He dialed the number, then waited.

  “Yes?” a grating voice answered after the first ring.

  It was Jim Stone. No matter what time of day or night, he always answered his own phone, and he always sounded like a man who’d had his vocal cords burned in a fire. Bill had never seen him. He wondered what he looked like. Probably scarred.

  “I have Anna Ridgeway cornered.”

  “Where?”

  “On a boat.”

  “You idiot! Boats can sail away.”

  “Not this
one. The crew quit.” Quickly he explained what had happened.

  “Then why isn’t the woman dead?” The question was direct and to the point.

  “Too many people around. And now she’s with the guy who owns the boat.”

  “What’s his name”

  “A man named Zachary Robinson. He’s a diver.”

  “Just a moment.”

  Stone was away from the phone for several minutes. What the hell was he doing?

  When he came back, he asked, “What are they up to?”

  “Talking.”

  “Just talking? You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” he answered, his voice hard and positive. A little while ago when he’d been on the dock, he’d thought they were screwing. Now he blinked, trying to bring that thought into focus. It stayed blurry, wrong.

  “Has she met with him before?”

  “No.” Bill knew that for certain, since he’d been following her around.

  “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. I’ll line up some freelancers to help you. You stay down by the docks. If Ridgeway and Robinson leave the boat, let me know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll have your reinforcements there as fast as I can.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want Ridgeway and the guy off the island. Away from other people. I’ll give you further instructions later. But keep them separated. I mean, I don’t want them touching each other. You got that?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s important. No physical contact—once you scoop them up. Stay near them, and make sure nothing’s going on.”

  “Yes, sir,” he repeated, adding the honorific for effect. He didn’t know why the touching part was so important, but he’d follow Stone’s directions.

  “I’ll call when I have this set up.”

  “How will they find me?”

  “They know what you look like.”

  “They do?”

  “Yeah.” Stone clicked off, and Bill stood by the warehouse, staring off into the afternoon sunlight reflected on the water.

  He’d been sure of himself this morning. Sure of himself a little while ago. Now his brain felt fuzzy, and he welcomed the idea of reinforcements. Which was odd, because he liked to work alone.

  He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then walked back to the dock.