A Gift of Thought

by Sarah Wynde

  Beep, beep, beep.

  There, the guard was getting up and heading this way. Perfect.

  Dillon stopped paying attention to the guards and watched his parents instead. They were walking toward the elevators and his dad had his hand resting on the small of his mom’s back. That seemed like a good sign.

  As they disappeared into the elevator, he glanced back at the clock. Three more minutes and then he’d try to catch up with Rachel. No, not try, he corrected himself. He would catch up with Rachel. If she got into trouble, he’d be right there with her, even if all he could do was watch. He shuddered at the thought and stared at the second hand of the clock, wishing it would move faster.

  Finally, at last, Dillon hurried out of the building. He turned up the tree-lined sidewalk, searching for Rachel as he rushed along the street, ignoring scattered pedestrians as he made his way toward Columbus Circle. With relief, he spotted her dark-haired figure waiting at a traffic light.

  She’d already gotten rid of her velvet dress, he realized. She must have pulled it off and thrown it in the first trash can she passed. Her arms clutched around herself, she shivered in the cold, one hand clenched around her open GPS tracking device and the other holding the battery.

  “I hope you’re here, Dillon,” she was saying under her breath. She’d left her phone behind so Dillon had no way to answer her. “Look for a cab that’s loading up. When I walk by it, I’ll put the battery back in my tracker. You make the driver’s phone ring and I’ll drop the tracker into the trunk. That way I’ll know you’re with me and I can get rid of the tracker.”

  Rachel was much too good at this, Dillon thought, feeling more anxious than ever. What if the driver noticed? What if he spotted the tracking device and stopped Rachel?

  But it all went exactly as Rachel planned. As she hurried into the huge granite and marble train station, the cab driver was closing up his trunk, unaware of the small black object almost invisible against the dark trunk carpet.

  Rachel’s cheeks were pink. Dillon wondered whether it was from the chill or exhilaration. In his opinion, she was enjoying herself far too much.

  As she passed hundreds of dollars in cash across to the ticket-taker to purchase the ticket she’d reserved online, the man gave her a sharp look.

  “All by yourself, miss?”

  “Oh, no,” she responded blithely. “My dad’s parking the car. He was worried I’d miss the train so he dropped me off at the door and sent me in ahead. He’ll be here in a couple of minutes to see me off.”

  The cashier glanced at the clock, but didn’t comment as he counted the cash and slid it into the drawer. Dillon looked, too. The train wouldn’t depart for another half hour or so. It wasn’t a totally implausible lie, but it wasn’t foolproof, either.

  “Awfully young to be traveling by yourself, aren’t you?” The cashier still sounded skeptical as he printed out her ticket.

  Rachel smiled at him. “I’ve been flying by myself since I was six,” she lied. “My parents have joint custody so I visit Washington a lot. But this is the first time I’ve taken the train. Do you know how the food is? Should I get some snacks before I go? The little bedroom looks so cute, I can’t wait to sleep in it.”

  She sounded excited and happy and not at all like a girl who was running away from home. Obviously reassured, the cashier smiled back at her. “Meals are included with the price of the room,” he told her. “You’ll get breakfast and lunch, but you can also get something at the snack car, if you like. Or the food court downstairs has plenty of options.” He passed over her ticket and pointed out the direction to the train through the doorways on either side of the counter, then wished her a pleasant trip.

  As she hurried away from the counter, Rachel’s bright smile faded. She headed to the entryway on the right, avoiding the police kiosk on the left. “He might remember me,” she muttered. “That’s bad.”

  Dillon looked back, but the cashier wasn’t watching her leave. He’d turned to deal with his next customer and Dillon suspected that he’d half-forgotten Rachel already. Oh, sure, if the police came by with a picture or her image made it onto the news, he might remember. But Rachel had soothed his suspicions perfectly.

  For the first time, Dillon began to feel optimistic. Maybe this would work the way it was supposed to.

  *****

  The elevator doors opened with a ding. A slight cough let Sylvie know they now had witnesses. She pulled away from Lucas, breathless, and turned, cheeks flushed and head high, not meeting the eyes of the people who had been waiting as she stepped out of the elevator. She could feel amused appreciation, though, and the ‘Lucky girl’ from the woman who had coughed came in loud and clear.

  She glanced at Lucas as he followed her. His smile was just a little too smug. She batted him in the stomach with her clutch, but he only grinned wider and slipped his hand under her elbow.

  Sylvie looked around. The lobby they stood in was decorated for the holidays, with a brightly-lit Christmas tree and festive red ribbons. Glass doors led onto the balcony that she had noticed earlier, while one open interior door clearly led to the party. She took a deep, appreciative breath. She didn’t know exactly what she could smell, but it was food and she was starving.

  She led the way into the party and wove a path straight to the buffet table against the wall, Lucas following her. Picking up a plate, she started filling it with abandon. Little cheesy things, check, she’d have two of those. Vegetables, sure, an assortment and some of that dip that looked as if it might be yogurt-based. Stuffed mushrooms, not a chance. Bacon wrapped around a mystery, definitely, although she hoped the inside was nothing too weird. Meat on a skewer, always an easy decision. She added three of the skewers to her plate and turned to Lucas with a smile.

  His own smile was gone and he looked almost grim.

  “You okay?” she asked, her smile fading. What was wrong with him? The easy joy was gone, replaced with a tension that made her want to wince. He was going to give her a stress headache if he kept that up, she thought crossly.

  ‘Sorry,’ came the thought in reply. ‘It’s just . . .’ The words broke off. His thought felt to Sylvie like the broken images of a spinning kaleidoscope, a whirl of colors and sensations.

  She blinked at him then glanced around the room. To her, it seemed to be a typical corporate party: too many people, too small a space, voices too bright, stiff conversations and faked smiles, but also some genuine camaraderie and friendships. It was heavily tilted male and, in this room, upper echelon, which made sense for AlecCorp. Most of the younger crowd would be downstairs dancing or, more likely, standing around getting drunk at the open bar.

  There was no sign of Chesney, but he was probably holed up in a private office, sharing a whiskey with the other members of the board of directors. If Lucas hoped to discover any useful information, he’d want to stay here until the obligatory appearances and handshakes. Not that he was going to learn anything, anyway. It was ridiculous to think that Chesney would have anything to do with the cartels.

  She and Lucas had agreed to mingle, though, and talk about Mexican vacations to see if anyone overhearing them let any unguarded thoughts slip free. If Lucas didn’t pull it together, that was going to be tough to do.

  Sylvie popped a cherry tomato into her mouth and bit into it, feeling a visceral satisfaction as the splash of liquid and tang of flavor hit her tongue. Lucas closed his eyes as if in pain. She waited for him to explain what was wrong, but he didn’t say anything as she chewed and swallowed.

  And then a dim memory floated to the surface of her mind. They’d gone to a movie together. Some summer blockbuster. Lucas had been strange in the line, but once in the crowded theater, he’d gotten worse. Sylvie held back her sigh, looking down at her plate. Did she have time to eat just a little more?

  ‘We forgot about crowds,’ she thought to him, deliberately trying to show him a glimpse of the memory.

  ‘Bring the plate,’ he thought back at her. If a th
ought could sound grumpy, his did. Turning, he led the way back to the door they’d entered through. Sylvie followed, nodding with a hint of apology to the people they were brushing past for the second time.

  He went straight to the balcony. Outside, he took a deep breath of the crisp, wintery air as Sylvie shivered and moved to stand in the shelter of the building.

  “How can you bear that?” he asked. “It’s so—so chaotic. All those people. All their feelings.”

  Sylvie shrugged, picking up one of the chicken skewers. “You get used to it.”

  “How?”

  She held out the plate for him to take some food as she thought about her answer. “Ever watched a home video of someone at the beach?”

  He took one of the cheese puffs but didn’t eat it right away, just holding it as he watched her, his blue eyes dark despite the light from the lobby. “Sure, probably.”

  “Sometimes the sound of the ocean is so loud that you can hardly hear the people. But when you’re at the beach, you forget about it. You tune it out. It’s like that for me.”

  “The woman next to us was worrying about a sick kid. The guy she was with is cheating on her. He was wondering if he could sneak away to his girlfriend tonight.”

  Sylvie nodded. She’d heard them, too. “I don’t usually get their thoughts.”

  “I could tell you how every person in that room was feeling,” Lucas continued. “Happy, sad, lonely, frustrated, bored—”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Sylvie interrupted, voice dry. “I felt them, too.” She took a bite of her chicken.

  “The young guy by the door?” Lucas asked.

  Sylvie swallowed before answering. “Depressed. Or maybe PTSD.” She’d noticed him, too. Quiet, athletic, chatting comfortably to an older man, his polite smile not reaching his eyes. But for her—and for Lucas, too, when he was with her—the black cloud around him was practically visible.

  “How can you stand it?”

  Sylvie tried again. “It’s like walking into a restaurant and noticing the smells of all the food. Five minutes later, you won’t be able to tell that there’s any smell at all unless you really think about it. You just have to stop paying attention.”

  “Neural adaptation.” Lucas finally ate the cheese puff he’d been holding. “Like not feeling your clothes against your skin.”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  “But it feels like sensory overload to me. As if I used to be blind and suddenly I can see. I don’t know how to process all the emotions at once. It’s too intense.”

  “We’ve never spent much time together in crowds. I guess I’m used to the feel of lots of other people. I’ve had plenty of practice.” Being with Lucas added people’s thoughts to the experience, of course, but it didn’t seem to affect Sylvie like the emotions affected Lucas. It wasn’t so different from overhearing conversations, after all. Besides, she could only hear the people closest to them. “Don’t the thoughts bother you?”

  He looked thoughtful. “I’m used to them. It’s noisy, but I ignore it most of the time. It’s like background music. I only listen when it catches my attention. You know, I wonder if there are others like you.”

  Sylvie raised a brow as she dipped a carrot into the yogurt and crunched down on it.

  “Adapt or die, right? If you learn how to stop noticing the same way we all do with sounds or smells or touch, maybe you start taking it for granted. There might be other people who can do what you do who don’t realize that they’re unusual.”

  “Maybe,” Sylvie agreed. “They probably get diagnosed with ADD. The inattentive kind.”

  “That sounds like the voice of experience.”

  Sylvie didn’t answer out loud, just waved a hand dismissively before trying one of the bacon-wrapped appetizers. It tasted like pineapple on the inside, an odd but not unpleasant combination of salt and sweet. She lifted the plate a little. ‘Try one.’

  ‘Changing the subject?’ he asked as he took one of the bacon pieces.

  “School wasn’t my strong point.” It was a reminder of how different they were. Lucas had probably never failed a test in his life.

  “Hey.” He stepped a little closer to her, his body almost touching the food that she held between them, and slid his empty hand around to the nape of her neck. “Don’t do that. We’re alike in the ways that matter.”

  She looked up at him and tried to smile. “Different in most ways.”

  “Different in only the best ways,” he murmured, bending his head to hers. She opened her mouth to him, letting his searching kiss warm and reassure her, until the press of the plate against her abdomen reminded her of where they were and what they were supposed to be doing.

  She took a step back. “We need to decide what to do.”

  He nodded, letting his hands drop and glancing into the building. “I don’t want to waste this opportunity.” His expression was somber. “I’ve been trying for months to find some evidence to prove Chesney’s connection to the cartels. Or at least enough to get law enforcement on my side.”

  Sylvie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m not sure the cops are persuaded by evidence that you find while breaking and entering.”

  He looked back at her, his grin flashing. “You’d be surprised. It’s not my usual technique, though. I prefer to stay on the right side of the law, but this was an exception.”

  “Why?” Sylvie felt genuinely curious. Why was Lucas so determined to believe that Chesney was involved with criminals?

  His smile disappeared and he paused for a long moment. His emotions felt mixed to Sylvie: a core of determination on the surface but underneath it, a sorrow flavored with a bitter anger. “I never wanted to get involved with drug cases. When I convinced my father that General Directions should expand into law enforcement, I imagined us finding missing people.”

  “A kid disappears, so you show up and read the minds of all the people who saw him last?” Sylvie could see how having someone with that ability on call would make the police very happy.

  “Yeah, something like that. And we’ve done that a few times. But missing people sometimes overlap with drug cases and . . .” He shook his head and let the words trail off before starting up again. “Don’t get me wrong, the war on drugs is a huge waste of taxpayer money. Prohibition didn’t work in the 1920s, so why the politicians were stupid enough to think it would work when we tried it again is beyond me. As it turns out, no surprise, we’ve arrived at the same outcome. Prohibition led to organized crime and the war on drugs leads to the drug cartels.”

  Sylvie felt a trickle of unease. “You’re not crazy enough to think you’re going to take on the drug cartels, are you? Because that sounds like a fast way to get killed to me.”

  Lucas’s chuckle held no humor in it. “No. That’d be an exercise in futility. They’re hydras—chop one head off, two more show up. Breaking the Columbian cartels just made room for the Mexicans. But Chesney’s a different story.”

  “How so?”

  “The guy’s not stupid. It’s actually a damn clever business strategy. He supplies guns to the cartels on the one hand, mercenaries to the Mexican government on the other. He expanded AlecCorp during Iraq, but now that the war’s over, he either cuts back or finds new markets. Instead, he’s creating new markets. Like the world doesn’t have enough problems.”

  Sylvie scowled. That sounded dangerously plausible. “Is the Mexican government hiring mercenaries?”

  Lucas nodded. “They have no choice. The Zetas control more territory than the government does, anyway. It’s war down there. And guess who funds it?”

  Sylvie didn’t have to think too hard. “We do?”

  He smiled at her, but there was no humor in it. “Congress is spending billions to equip and train the Mexican military to fight back against the drug cartels. Most of that money goes straight to private military contractors.”

  Technically speaking, Sylvie was a private military contractor. She supposed she could even be considered a m
ercenary. Ty hadn’t taken any contracts for training the locals in Iraq or Afghanistan, but he could have and she wouldn’t have argued. But a good day for someone in her line of work was a boring day: one with no explosions, no bullets, and no injuries. From what Lucas was saying, Chesney was trying to make every day in Mexico an interesting day for his employees in order to get more of them hired and make more money.

  That didn’t sit well with her.

  “All right,” she said. She ate the cheese puff, picked up a skewer and nibbled at the beef teriyaki, then held the plate out for Lucas to take something. “We’ve got to go back to your original plan. Searching is pointless. Even if we got into Chesney’s office, he’s not going to leave proof of illegal weapon sales conveniently sitting out. We need to find out who he’s working with. So we can either stay together and I’ll do the listening while you concentrate on not letting the emotions get to you, or we can separate and you can listen to people on your own while I mingle and see if anyone has an interesting emotional response to the idea of Mexico.”

  “We stay together,” Lucas answered firmly.

  Sylvie tried to hold back her laugh, not altogether successfully. Had that been protective or possessive? In a mild voice, she said, “I am quite good at taking care of myself, you know.”

  “Not the point,” he answered. Oh, possessive, definitely possessive, Sylvie realized, seeing the room they’d just been in through his eyes. Her focus on the buffet meant that she hadn’t noticed the appreciative male gazes, but Lucas had.

  Letting a slight smile play about her lips, she tucked her hand into Lucas’s arm. “Lead the way then.”

  As they stepped into the building, Sylvie felt her muscles relaxing at the warmth. It wasn’t bitterly cold outside, just brisk, but she wasn’t dressed for the weather. “This floor first?” Then she paused, frowning.