by Jaime Rush
His eyes widened in surprise and curiosity. “Noise?” “You don’t make noise. I don’t know whether you’re holding it in or just not letting yourself go, but I want to hear you come. Petra said she used to hear you with a girl, you know, making love, and she never heard you make sounds of pleasure. I realized you don’t do that with me, either, not even in our dreams.”
He smiled softly. “You think I’m not enjoying myself?”
“I know you are. But I need to hear it.”
Seeing or perhaps sensing her need, his smile faded. “All right.” At her smile, he said, “I’ll moan and I’ll groan and I’ll blow your house down.”
He nuzzled her neck as he growled the words, and she buckled in laughter, collapsing onto the bed in his arms. Chills swept down her neck and over her body. It felt so good to laugh, to lose herself in him. Their gazes met, and their laughter died.
He kissed her forehead and sat up. “And I never made love with anyone but you. Anything else was just sex.”
She put her hand on her heart, feeling his words fill it with warmth. “Thank you.”
He touched her cheek. “It’s true.” After a moment, he let his hand drop. “Are you going to try to talk to Cyrus tonight?”
She nodded.
“I’ll be right here.”
She slid under the covers, and he stretched out beside her, his leg touching hers for support. They still slept together, albeit in pajamas. She couldn’t bear to sleep apart from him, not after almost losing him twice.
She drifted into sleep, swaddled in corrosive thoughts about the night and the pain of not knowing if she would ever have Lucas again.
With his fingers tracing the curves of her face, she slipped through the veil and into hypnagogic sleep.
Cyrus.
She heard a strange sound, like muffled shouting, and then, Amy. It’s me.
I can barely hear you over that awful noise.
It’s Gladstone. He’s trying to barge in, but I’m keeping him at bay.
We’d better hurry. Cyrus, there’s an Offspring named Jerryl Evrard. Do you know if he’s working with Darkwell?
No. He’s on military leave. He wasn’t interested in joining the program. He—
She heard Gladstone shouting her name. How long could Cyrus hold him off?
The connection broke, and she climbed out of sleep long enough to mumble, “Evrard’s okay,” before falling into deep sleep.
CHAPTER 16
A
my watched as Eric used the computer to call the number for Margery and John Evrard, the only Evrard in the book. When a woman answered, he said, “Hi, I’m looking for Jerryl. I served in the Marines with him and got discharged myself, thought I’d try to look him up.” “He’s not in right now, but he’ll be back this evening. Can I leave a message for him?”
“I’ll try him later, thanks.”
He disconnected. “So he’s staying with his parents. We need to track him, check him out.”
Rand raised his hand. “I’ll go.”
Lucas shook his head. “Amy’s got to go, make sure he’s an Offspring. And I’m going with her.”
“Then we’ll all go,” Rand said.
Lucas leaned against the rack of batteries, his arms crossed loosely in front of him. “The fewer of us out there, the better. Every time we leave, we risk our lives. Look what happened last time you and Zoe went out.”
Amy tilted her head. “I understand your frustration, but Lucas is right. Hang tight, decompress. You’ll be out again soon enough.”
Jerryl’s parents lived in a town south of Annapolis, a twenty-minute drive. They followed the directions to the Evrard home, which was across the street from a large recreational park. They circled the park and left the car in a distant lot. Looking like a couple out to enjoy the early-summer day, they held hands and walked into the wooded area that bordered the park to the east.
Lucas pointed. “According to the Google maps satellite view, if we head toward the road, we’ll be across from the house.”
They spotted the house through the trees, small and well kept, with an American flag and a red Marine Corps flag flying from a pole. Amy laid out the blanket she’d brought so they’d look like two lovebirds hiding out in private.
Forty minutes later, a brown truck pulled into the driveway. A muscular young man with a cast on his ankle maneuvered his way out of the driver’s side. It was almost painful to watch the awkward way he had to close the vehicle’s door while balancing a bag and crutches.
Amy heard the excitement in her own voice. “He’s one of us.”
“That doesn’t mean we can trust him. Even if Cyrus did say he’d declined to be in the program.” He glanced at her. “I know, I sound as paranoid as Eric. After what just happened, I have to be. Mostly, though, we’ve got to worry about who else might be watching him, too.”
“He’s not the guy we saw at the asylum when we were casing the joint to rescue you. A man and woman walked out together. We couldn’t see their faces because it was dark, but he wasn’t limping.” She felt Lucas relax a bit. “We need to take him off guard, like you did with me. But I think he’ll be okay.”
He nodded. “Not at his parents’ house, though. We’ll take turns watching him over the next couple of days, get a bead on his routine. He won’t be much of an asset physically. Let’s see what he can do psychically.”
Three nights after the Nicholas-Braden-imposter fiasco, Zoe’s dreams were still filled with images of fear and blood and death. And almost as bad as that, the helpless feeling of not being able to help. So she’d been practicing her skills. She spun around in the bedroom and stared at a book of matches she’d set on the dresser. They shot into the air and landed on her perfectly made bed.
With her hand in the shape of a gun, she lifted her finger to her lips and blew off “smoke.” She was getting the hang of this bioenergy stuff. She’d be able to help this time. At least a little.
She walked out into the hallway. No groaning, thank goodness. Just music, a sort of punky rock she’d never heard before: “Got to keep ’em separated.”
She stepped into the living area. Rand sat in the chair from which she’d mercilessly teased him a few nights ago. He was bobbing his head to the music, absently stroking his chin and completely immersed in her sketchbook. Damn, she’d left it out.
Aiming her energy at it, she sent it flying out of his hands. He jumped, his gaze going right to her. “She-it, you scared the hell out of me.”
She scooped up the book. “You should never look at a woman’s diary.”
“That isn’t a diary.”
“It’s my sketchbook, same thing.”
“Then you shouldn’t leave it out.” He got to his feet. “If you weren’t being so snippy, I’d compliment you on your artwork.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Oh, no, there she went, seeking approval. An old, bad habit. Don’t go asking for more. Just keep it at that.
And right out of her mouth came, “My monsters?”
“Yeah. But what’s the eye thing?”
She flipped open the book. “This?”
“Yeah.”
She traced the outline of the eye. “Something I dreamed about one night, so I started playing around with it.” It had given her an eerie feeling but not necessarily a bad one. “I realized that the eye could be for BLUE EYES, the project our parents were involved in. The iris could be an O, for Offspring. And the slashes in the pupil look like an R for Rogues.”
“That’s ill.” At her confused look, he said, “Ill. Good.” He grinned. “But the monsters are really cool.”
She pouted. “I miss my monsters. I’ve got movie posters all over my apartment. The classics, like Frankenstein, The Mummy, The Lost Boys.” She gave the book a shake. “I specialize in monster tattoos.”
She felt her heart catch when he grinned. “Monsters, huh?”
She angled her leg out and pulled up the stretch pants to show him her Dr
acula tattoo. “I didn’t do this one, of course, but it’s my design.”
“I didn’t get a good look at it when you showed it to Gram.” He lifted one eyebrow. “I couldn’t act as though I’d never seen it before if I was pretending you were my girl.”
He knelt and studied it, running his finger over the lines. Seeing him down there reminded her of that night in the woods when he’d been on his knees. When he’d been kissing her stomach, pressing his face against the front of her jeans, then he’d stopped and just held her tight.
She felt heat right where his face had been. There was something so powerful about a man kneeling before a woman. Damn, she couldn’t let her thoughts go there. She was getting a handle on her ability; why couldn’t she get a handle on her heart?
He stood, which put him inches from her. Appropriately enough, the lead singer was singing, “Gotta Get Away.”
“Who is this?” she asked.
“One of my fave bands. You’ll never guess their name.” He waited a beat. “The Offspring.”
“Perfect.” She tossed her book in her room. “I’m going upstairs. I’m starved.”
Rand shut off the radio. “Me, too.”
The aroma of coffee and bacon revved up her appetite even more. The television was on, as it had been the day before, so they could catch any more news on the shooting. The story seemed to die from lack of further information.
The four were scattered around the living space upstairs, and all gazes went to her.
“What?”
Amy, who was in the kitchen, poured a mug of coffee and walked it over to her. Uh-oh, this was going to be bad. Petra, looking tired as she sprawled on the couch, set down her Cosmo magazine and tilted her head in sympathy.
Zoe wrapped her hands around the mug. “Don’t string me along. What’s going on?”
Amy said, “There was a follow-up on the missing Zoe Stoker story. The police found a bag of cocaine hidden in your apartment. Enough to charge you with dealing. And now they’re saying that you’re obviously missing because of a drug deal gone bad.”
Zoe felt her mouth melt into a frown. Her voice came out high-pitched. “They think I’m a drug dealer?”
Amy nodded.
“My friends, my family, my employees…”
Amy nodded again, sympathy etched on her freckled face. “I’m sorry.”
Zoe sank into the nearest chair at the long table. “My mom is going to think I’m into drugs. Would that surprise her? Probably not.” She heard the bite in her words. When she realized everyone was looking at her, she feigned a smile. “So I’m not the poor, missing Zoe anymore.”
Rand gave her a sympathetic look. “And you won’t be able to go back to your life until—”
“Until when?” She swung around on him. “Until Darkwell tells the police that he set me up? Even if we kill them all, I’ll still be wanted for dealing drugs. Drugs, for God’s sake! I’ve never even done drugs!” No way could she let herself get out of control like that.
She looked at Eric. “Now I know why you want to annihilate these creeps.”
He threw his hands up in the air. “Finally, someone understands me.”
She walked into the kitchen to stir sugar into her coffee. She wasn’t hungry anymore.
Rand followed her, and her body strained to feel a comforting hand on her shoulder. He paused next to her but only grabbed a glass from the cabinet. “I’ve got to take off for a bit,” he said to no one in particular. When Lucas started to object, he said, “Look, we approach this Jerryl dude tomorrow, and I may get killed. I’m not dying without one more joyride, one more taste of freedom. I’ve been down here for twenty-four hours, and I’m beginning to twitch.” Rand poured a glassful of water and chugged it.
Lucas tapped his fingers on the table. “I can’t stop you, but be careful. Don’t stay in one place for long.”
“I never do.”
“I want to go,” Zoe said before even considering the words. She turned to him. “Please.”
“Oh, hell.” He rolled his head back.
“I need to call the guy who’s heading my shop and tell him to take over.” Her voice broke when she said, “Maybe even arrange to sell it. And I need to call my granddad. I can’t take a chance of doing it from here. Both calls might take too long to make from the computer.”
Rand very clearly, totally, did not want her to go.
“Fine.” She walked away from him. “I’ll take the Camry.”
Eric shook his head. “Can’t. That car is hot right now. Witnesses saw it leave, and the police may be on the lookout for it.”
“We need to get the ’Cuda as a backup.” Lucas looked at Amy. “Maybe your buddy can arrange to get it painted, put on some groundwork, spoilers, and stuff so it doesn’t look the same. It’s too recognizable to leave it as it is.”
Rand grabbed his keys and walked to the door. He punched the buttons to open it. Took a step. Stopped. His body stiffened, and he turned to Zoe. “All right.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Forget it. I don’t want you taking me out of pity.”
Rand slapped his forehead. “Women. Look, I’m leaving. You can come with me or not.” He stepped through the opening.
“Men,” Zoe muttered, stalking toward the door.
She didn’t say a word as they walked down the tunnel. The smell of damp concrete filled her nose, though every now and then she got a whiff of his deodorant.
He turned to her when they reached the garage. “I’m going to Baltimore. I didn’t want to tell them that. I rep Lucas. I know he’s concerned about me…kind of like an older brother, I guess.” His voice had grown soft at that. “But I don’t answer to anyone. And the reason I’m telling you is because you’re a wanted felon in Baltimore.”
“I’m going to have a helmet on most of the time. My hair’s black now. I’m not going to my shop or my apartment.”
“Your choice.” He stepped closer. “And I don’t do anything out of pity, got it? I hate pity, hate charity. I wouldn’t put that on anyone else.”
“Well, you sure seemed reluctant to let me come.”
“Because I want to be alone. Because you and me together has bad painted all over it in pistachio green. And because I’ve got a hobby that’s, shall we say, slightly illegal, and I’m fiending for a fix. If you come, you’ve got to promise you’ll keep your mouth shut.” His gaze briefly dropped to her mouth.
An illegal hobby? “Well, it can’t be any more illegal than dealing drugs. Right?”
“Not drugs. I don’t do them either.”
“And it can’t be any more dangerous than what we just went through the other night. And nothing is going to happen between us. It’s just a physical thing, right?”
“Right,” he said a bit too fast. “And maybe that horny side-effect thing.”
“Yeah, a bit of that, too. We had our little lip-lock thing, and now it’s done. So I’m in.”
He had tried his best to dissuade her. She wasn’t backing down, though. Not only did she need to call two people, but now she wanted to find out what he was up to.
He got on the bike, and she climbed on behind him. And having to hold on to him wasn’t so bad, either.
Gerard was sitting at his huge mahogany desk when Pope walked in, filling the room with his presence. At six-foot-five, with a solid frame and well-defined facial features, the man always took Gerard back.
Pope didn’t take the chair, though he did take the proffered glass of rare Scotch whisky as he set down his leather briefcase. He walked to the window and looked out to the lawn. The afternoon light reflected off his shaved head in a muted glow.
“What did you tell your family you were doing here?”
Gerard joined him at the window, taking in the well-manicured gardens and the maze his grandmother had loved. “Not much, only that I lost the building I was using for a strategic project and didn’t want to cram everyone into one space at headquarters. My brother, Leon, passed away, as you
probably know. They’re distracted by that for the moment. Since this estate has been unused for a year, and has been moldering on the market for even longer, they likely won’t even think about it.”
He wished he’d thought of it earlier. His grandfather, a military man and highly successful businessman, had been paranoid enough to install security around the grounds. All Gerard had had to do was update the system. Even better, it was close to headquarters, yet still surrounded by twenty acres of land.
He wasn’t sure if he liked Pope’s involvement in DARK MATTER. Having a powerful man with spider ties to the FBI and none of the restrictions of actually working for them had its advantages. Pope had been peripherally involved in the first program, and because of the messes the Rogues had created, Gerard had to involve him again to help in the cleanup. On the other hand, Pope’s interest in the Offspring was disconcerting. Gerard had worked hard and invested a lot of his own money in DARK MATTER. He wasn’t about to let someone meddle with his baby.
Pope turned to him, his eyes an unusual shade of violet-blue. “Your men are going down like flies in a bucket of frogs.”
The expression would have seemed oddly amusing, coming from the always-serious Pope if Gerard hadn’t been annoyed. Pope seemed to know everything, and yet, Gerard knew nothing about who he was, where he came from, or what he did.
“We’ve taken out two of the enemy: Lucas Vanderwyck and Eric Aruda.” He didn’t want to get into the details, as delicious as they were. Pope was already too intrigued. “That leaves three women and one man, and he can only see ten seconds ahead.”
“And how many of yours have they taken out?”
Pope was poking Gerard’s wounds with a stick. And by damn, he seemed to be enjoying his failure.
“Three. Most of them were only injured.” He looked at Pope. “Are you ever going to tell me what you did to those men?”
“You only need to know the end result. Isn’t that what’s most important? No one finds out about your program or exactly what you’re doing. No one probes.”
