by Nina Croft
“Me—I think.”
“What?”
“She thinks we should join our two great families together.”
“You’re kidding?”
His father’s lips twitched. “You don’t think a beautiful woman like Lauren would want to marry an old man like me?”
Actually, he thought Lauren would marry anyone who would increase her influence in the Conclave. Was this the motive he’d been missing?
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t touch the woman. Sit down,” his father said, waving a hand at the chair in front of the desk.
They rarely met in person these days. He loved his father, but there would always be that niggle of doubt that he had let down Ethan’s mother. She’d died when Ethan was eighteen. She’d fallen from a horse, miscarried, and bled to death before anyone found her.
Ethan had never believed it to be an accident, as everyone had claimed. His gut instincts, honed even at that age, had told him that there was something not right about the death. But his father had sworn he’d looked into the accident, and that’s exactly what it had been.
There was a photo of her on his father’s desk. She hadn’t been beautiful in any conventional sense—her nose was too long, her mouth too wide, her long dark hair a wild uncontrollable cloud about her face. But anyone who saw her was drawn to her. She’d been an artist and so vividly alive that even now, fourteen years later, he found it hard to comprehend that she was gone.
He’d known she wasn’t happy in the later years. Though she was born to the Conclave, she’d never really embraced their ways, but she’d loved his father.
It had been a bad time after her death. Ethan’s mind had been enveloped in darkness. What was the point in being leaders of the most powerful organization in the known world if you couldn’t save the ones you loved?
Unable to reconcile his feelings, he’d run away, joined the army, spent the next four years fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan, resisting his father’s pleas to come home. Eventually he’d been captured, held in an Iraqi prison, tortured, until the Conclave had done what the army couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do and rescued him.
He’d come back home then, and strangely, the time away had made him see more clearly. Everyone was corrupt: the military, politicians, big businesses. They all had their own agendas, none of which involved the good of mankind. Oh, there were decent people about, but they tended not to reach the positions of power where they could actually influence anything that mattered.
You had to fight fire with fire.
And so he’d taken up his hereditary position within the Conclave, and maybe one day, he would replace his father as ultimate leader. And he would try and do some good to offset the bad. After all, there had to be people in the world willing to do the bad things in order to maybe, hopefully, ultimately, make the world a better place. His father had always said he was a dreamer…and it hadn’t been a compliment.
But deep down, that hadn’t been the real reason he’d returned. Only the ultimate leader had access to all the secrets of the Conclave. So he would bide his time, until one day, he took control. Only then, he was sure, would he find the truth about what had happened to his mother.
And after that, who knew?
“Tell me about Forrester. What was he working on? Do we know why he was killed?”
His father pursed his lips, and Ethan got the distinct impression he wasn’t going to like what came next. “Forrester wasn’t working on anything of importance. I believe he was killed because of his connection to a General Webber.”
Ethan ran his mind over the list of assets. “General Webber was assassinated six months ago. And he was originally recruited by Forrester.” But that didn’t make a lot of sense. There should be no record of the connection between the two men. Ethan, in his role as Asset Controller, was the only person who knew all the recruits and how they were connected. “There’s more?” There had better be fucking more. His father wouldn’t have called this meeting just for that.
“General Webber was working on a project for Travis.”
Travis was his cousin, though there had never been any love lost between them and they rarely communicated. “So?”
“I believe, though I haven’t had confirmation, that Travis felt Forrester was a risk. So he had him taken out.”
“Travis ordered the assassination? Why didn’t he come through me? All terminations come through my office.”
“No doubt we’ll find that out when Travis returns from South America. He wanted to discuss the matter in person. He’s supposed to be back within days.”
Travis had vanished from sight six months ago. That had been around the time General Webber was assassinated. He’d not thought about Travis’s disappearance much; it wasn’t totally unusual for their members to take a break—the job could be stressful. But now, it sounded as if he might have gone into hiding. Only that didn’t make a lot of sense. The Conclave had the resources to combat any enemy. And if that were the case, why come back now? Was it because Forrester was dead?
He shook his head. He couldn’t see how Forrester was a threat. Though if Travis had been monitoring the man’s movements, he would probably have come to the same conclusion as Ethan—that he was about to run.
Something occurred to him. “Was it Travis’s idea to come back to London now?”
A smile flickered on his father’s face. “No. He would have had to return for the annual conference anyway, but you could say he was quite reluctant.”
But he had to. No one could refuse a direct order from his father. Which meant Travis did not want to resurface yet. What had him running scared?
Ethan couldn’t wait a few days, though. He needed to know now. He needed to find another way to get at whoever had put a hooker up to blackmailing him. While he didn’t want to look too closely at his reasons, he’d never been one to deny the truth. He’d ordered the interrogation of many people. But the thought of her in pain…
“Do we know what Webber was working on?”
“Not in detail. Again, Travis said he would fill us in on his return.”
“What do you know now?”
Something in his voice must have alerted his father because he narrowed his eyes and studied Ethan for a moment. “What’s happened?”
“I was seen at Forrester’s house on the night of the hit. By a hooker. She contacted me yesterday, wanted money to keep quiet. I have her in custody.”
“How the hell did she identify you or get a contact number?”
“Exactly.” She had to have had help. Was it more than coincidence that had her there the night Forrester was murdered? Ethan didn’t believe in coincidences. So there was a good chance that she was linked to Travis somehow. Had she been sent to Forrester’s to confirm the hit? But why try and blackmail him afterward? Had someone suggested it—given her his private number? If so, they needed to know who. And why. None of this made sense.
“Has she said anything?”
“Not yet. The interrogation is scheduled for this afternoon, but I doubt she knows anything important. So I’d like whatever information you have.”
His father thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t much. The files were encrypted and only Travis has the key, but he told me a little.” He was silent for a moment and Ethan bit back his impatience. His father was studying him closely—he knew him too well. “Why does this matter? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
For a moment, he considered lying. But sometimes, the truth worked better than lies. “I like the girl, and I don’t want to interrogate her. If I can find an alternative way to get to the bottom of this, I’d prefer it.”
“You always did have a soft touch, but you always do what’s necessary.” He sighed. “We sometimes have to do things we don’t like, but if you can find another way to the same answer, I won’t argue the point.” He got up and walked to the window, standing with his back to Ethan as he looked out.
Finally, he turned a
round. “Travis told me he’d been working on a project exploring the potential uses of telepathy.”
Ethan sat back in his chair as shock hit him in the gut. “He’s trying to create telepaths?”
“No. According to Travis, they already exist. The project was more about exploring the ways they could be used and controlled.” His father gave a weak smile. “I don’t know about you, but it makes me a little twitchy to think there’s someone out there who could get inside my head.”
“It would certainly make secrecy difficult. Jesus.”
“Exactly. However useful, the project will be terminated once Travis is back.”
“Do we have any details? How far? How powerful.”
“Well, presumably Travis believes he’s safe in South America.”
“Great, but not much help.”
“Actually, he told me ‘same room’ only. Visual contact is needed. Touching is better. The closer, the stronger. But clearly something must have gone wrong. Something that made Travis decide to disappear for six months. And be reluctant to return.”
“He’s lost control of his assets?”
His father sighed. “I would guess so. I ordered him back. He’s on his way. We’ll find out everything, and then we’ll shut this thing down. However useful—I don’t like it.” He returned to his seat.
“Does this project have a name?” He would start digging, though if Travis had hidden the records, it was doubtful he would find anything.
“He referred to it as the Scottish Tribe.”
That sounded unlikely to be of any use. “I’ll see what I can find. Can you let me know as soon as he gets in?”
“I will.”
Time to find out about telepaths and how his pretty hooker fit into all this.
Chapter Seven
Ethan went back to his own office. He needed to think, dig a little. An unsettling thought was niggling at the back of his mind, and he wanted no distractions while he tried to tease it out.
Fergus was at his seat in the outer office when he went through.
“How is she?” Ethan asked.
“Your little hooker? Better than she should be. Wide awake and tucking into a full breakfast when I left. Either she’s tough as nails or too stupid to know what’s about to happen.”
“Send her cell feed through to my monitor.”
“No problem. You got the hots, boss?”
“Mind your own goddamn business.”
Fergus’s chuckle followed him into his office. He shut the door and crossed to his desk. After switching on the monitor, he swiped the screen until he hit the CCTV from her cell. She lay stretched out full length on the narrow cot, arms behind her head. Her eyes were closed, though, as he watched, she opened them.
She looked up at the camera almost as if she could sense him and blew a kiss. Was it for him or anyone who might be watching?
Fergus was right, though; she showed no fear. She was beautiful, her face showing a perfection rarely seen. High cheekbones, deep-set eyes, full mouth. She’d tasted so damn sweet, and heat sizzled along his veins.
Women had never played a big part in his life. He took one when he needed one, usually never the same one twice. He’d had a couple of mistresses, but he found keeping so much of himself a secret too hard, and in the end, he’d always paid them off, sent them away.
Now he had a longing for some sort of normality. The thought almost made him laugh. Here he was, secretly watching and lusting over a hooker who he was probably going to have tortured this afternoon. Hardly normal.
But to have a woman, someone to talk to, share his life with, hold. Fuck. Christ, he was just horny, it had been too long.
He switched off the monitor and sat back in his seat, thinking about what he’d learned.
Telepaths.
The potential was huge. What would it be like to have a world where lies were impossible?
Strangely, he liked the idea, though, he could understand why most people—especially those in power—would run from the notion. Lies were a way of life; he knew that better than most. But that didn’t mean he liked it that way.
The Tribe.
He searched through the Conclave files, but found nothing. Then he sat back to think it through. Forrester had been killed because of his connection to General Webber. He’d been about to run, so presumably, he suspected someone was on to him and was probably already spooked by Webber’s assassination.
Someone was coming after the Conclave. They knew Webber and presumably they also knew how the organization was structured. They had nothing else to go on and so they had to be searching for the only thing they did know, the person who’d recruited Webber. Only another asset would know that. He ran through the list in his mind and came up with an answer almost immediately. Colonel Harry Winters.
The guy was an anomaly. Ethan had always considered the colonel to be a little…low level to be of much use, but another member had pushed through the nomination. And he was guessing who that was. He tapped a few keys, and yes, Travis had wanted the man in.
General Webber worked with the government as did the colonel, so there was a government tie-in. Except the colonel had disappeared and hadn’t been seen in…what a surprise… six months. Around the time of Webber’s death.
He tapped into the military files, cross-referenced both Webber and Winters with the Tribe. And came up with nothing. But he didn’t believe it. Someone had done a very good job of erasing the files, but he could still recognize that there were holes in the data. Someone didn’t want the information out there. Travis or someone else? Who was Travis hiding from?
He’d clearly thought that there was a way to eventually get back on track, otherwise he would have come to them for a clean-up job—deleting all the evidence of a particular project so it would appear as though it had never existed. That wasn’t unheard of to protect the integrity of the Conclave. Instead, Travis had made himself scarce.
Next, he tried a general search on the Web for the Tribe, got millions of hits. Tried with the Tribe plus Scotland. He almost missed it and wasn’t even sure he had found anything at all. Except the name of the man Colonel Winters had recruited was Martin Rayleigh. And he didn’t believe in coincidences. He read the article through a few times.
The Tribe
In 1878, Malcolm Rayleigh, philanthropist and explorer, made an expedition to the Mountains of the Moon in what was then the Congo Free State of Africa. There he located an isolated tribe. What interested Rayleigh was that the tribe appeared to be of Caucasian origin. Small in number, only twenty-two in total, they were the obvious product of inbreeding. All were taller than average, with black hair, pale skin, deep blue eyes, and four toes on each foot. They were also believed to be mute and of limited intelligence.
Rayleigh took the tribe back to Scotland, where he gave them a home.
And nothing was heard of them again…
He switched again to the screen showing Suzi in her cell. She was still in the same position, but her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even. She was blond and brown eyed. How did she tie in with this group of people found over a hundred years ago? And she had to tie in somehow. No way could a hooker have found access to his private numbers on her own. Which meant she was being used. She’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone had fed her the information she needed to blackmail him.
He liked the idea, but there was that niggle again. He pulled up the photo he’d taken the night of Forrester’s death. The two women. Ignoring Suzi, he zoomed in on the second woman. She was tall, slender, with midnight-black hair cut off blunt at her shoulders. She was gazing up at the streetlight, and he could clearly make out the deep, dark blue of her eyes.
Shit.
Was he imagining connections where they didn’t exist?
There was only one way to find out.
He punched the intercom. “Get the car ready, and let them know to get her prepped.”
He needed answers, but would he let them hurt
her?
He still had no clue, but he’d soon find out.
…
They came for her around one in the afternoon. The same guard plus another. She had a quick peek into their heads and wished she hadn’t. She was to be taken to interrogation room one. Where she would no doubt be interrogated. Her breakfast churned in her stomach. She’d never considered herself a coward, but the thought of being tied up, at someone’s mercy…
Well, it just wasn’t her thing.
“Get up.”
She swung her legs off the bed. They were trembling and she hated that. Hated that these people might see her fear. Should she try and take them? She wasn’t hopeful about her chances. She’d been lying here, picking up the thoughts of the people in the place, and there were a lot. No way would she make it out. Right now, they believed she was just some hooker. They might shoot her rather than let her escape, and however scared she was, she didn’t want to die.
She took a couple of short breaths and pushed herself to her feet. They didn’t restrain her in any way—they obviously weren’t expecting any trouble—just gestured to the door.
Outside she found herself in a broad corridor, painted white with bright strip lighting. They walked on either side of her for about twenty feet and stopped, way too soon, at a white door. She really didn’t want to go in there. Her pulse was hammering and her legs wobbled. It was weird, but in all that had happened, she’d never felt truly afraid before.
One of the guards pushed open the door, and she swallowed. The room looked like a doctor’s examining room, except the chair and the examination table both had restraints, and for a moment, she couldn’t force herself to move. The guard nudged her from behind, then pushed harder when she remained rooted to the spot.
She shook her head and took a step inside. The place smelled of antiseptic and something else. She’d always been perceptive to places. They had their own emotions, and this one reeked of pain and fear, however clinically clean it might be.
The door shut behind her. The doctor from that morning was doing something at a sink in the corner, but he didn’t even look up as she entered. The guard crossed the room, picked up something from a tray, and tossed it to her. A white gown, like they would give you to wear in a hospital.
