by Rebecca York
He was inside her. Or was she inside him? He didn’t know anymore where he ended and she began. He only knew that every sense was tuned to her. Every thought. And she to him.
One of them began to move. No, it was both of them, because the pressure in their brains was too great and the only way to relieve it was through sexual climax.
That didn’t make sense. Yet he thought it was true, at least with the part of his mind that could still function coherently.
Or was it simply instinct that had him grasping for orgasm and bringing her along with him, because if it didn’t end soon, he knew he would die.
He couldn’t make absolute sense of that, but he was far beyond trying to understand what was happening. He was captive to the fiery sensations—his and hers—that were rushing them toward ecstasy...or death.
He couldn’t have stopped now if the door had burst open and men with guns had come charging in, firing at point-blank range.
He clung to Stephanie and she to him. Not just with his hands but with his mind. He had thought he was searching for remembered intimacy. This was so much more that he was at a loss to comprehend it. Yet as he hovered on the edge of a blinding explosion inside his brain, he wasn’t sure he would survive.
Only the woman who held him in her arms saved him from destruction.
And because every barrier between them had vanished, he knew it was the same for her. They would die together—or pull each other into a new life.
They crashed through an invisible barrier that separated them from everything they had always known. Climax shook them, blinding them to everything but what they had forged. They clung tightly to each other as they came down to earth, each of them panting, each of them marveling at what they had done together.
In that moment, there was nothing he could hide from her. Nothing she could hide from him. He didn’t even try, just drifted on the perfect oneness of their shared consciousness.
Since his brother’s death, he had felt cut off from humanity. This woman had filled the empty void within himself. More than filled it. She had given him a perfect union that he never could have imagined.
I always felt alone, she whispered in his mind. Not now.
He held her and stroked her, so grateful that she was in his arms.
But I still don’t understand it, she silently added.
I thought I did. This is more than I ever imagined, he answered.
She clasped his hand and held on tight. Making love gave us everything we wanted, but it could have killed us. If...
If we had a failure of nerve.
You knew what we could gain.
I only thought I knew.
Neither one of us was going to give up.
Rolling to his side, he took her with him, feeling more peaceful than he had since the terrible day Sam had died.
Emotionally exhausted, he felt sleep wafting over him and tried to fight it off.
Yes, I don’t want to lose a moment of this, she whispered in his mind.
I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll always be here, he answered. But for the moment, it was impossible not to drift off after the energy they had expended.
* * *
BACK IN NEW ORLEANS, a woman named Rachel Harper went very still. She was alone in her shop in the French Quarter where she did tarot-card readings and sold psychic paraphernalia. Once she had been alone and isolated, and she’d used her ability with the cards to connect with people on a level that would have been impossible otherwise. But last year she had met a man who had changed her life. Jake Harper.
The two of them had bonded in a way she had never dared imagine. And being with him had changed her life in ways she was still trying to understand.
As she sat alone in her darkened reading room, a burst of mental energy came to her from miles away. It startled her, and she knew she wouldn’t be alone here for long. Only a few minutes passed before the door to her shop burst open, and her husband, Jake, rushed in, out of breath from running.
He’d been in his office at one of the restaurants he owned in the city.
Something happened. Are you all right? he asked.
Yes.
Are we in danger?
I don’t know, she answered honestly.
Jake crossed to her side, reaching for her hand and folding her fingers around his. For long moments, neither of them moved or spoke, although speech was no longer necessary for the two of them to communicate.
You sensed another couple bonding, he finally said.
I think so.
Are they going to attack us?
Someone who didn’t know their history might have thought the question paranoid, but the first couple like them that they’d encountered, Tanya and Mickey, had tried to kill them. The fight for their lives had made them cautious.
They were thinking the same thing now.
We have to wait and see what happens.
Are they in trouble?
Probably.
Does that mean we have a new enemy? I don’t mean them. I mean...someone connected with the Solomon Clinic.
I guess we’ll find out.
* * *
SOMETIME DURING THE NIGHT, Stephanie woke. Beside her, so did Craig.
He eased far enough away to switch on the bedside lamp, and they both blinked in the sudden glow.
When he raised himself on his elbow and smiled down at her, she felt her own smile starting with her mouth and spreading through her whole body.
“Would you have believed that could happen—if anyone had told you?”
“No.”
“We’ve found something nobody else has.”
“Maybe somebody,” she answered.
“Who?”
“You think there’s nobody like us? I mean, you and Sam had it.”
“Close. But not exactly.”
“Before we had to leave my dad’s house, we were talking about the Solomon Clinic. About maybe it having something to do with...” She raised one shoulder. “I don’t know how to put it, exactly. With children who had special abilities. Maybe we should look up the place.”
“Nice that I was able to get my computer from the bed-and-breakfast.”
As he went to retrieve his laptop, she admired his broad shoulders and tight butt.
I heard that.
She flushed. I guess there are some disadvantages to...being so...open to each other.
Sam and I used to practice closing off our minds from each other. We could try that.
And that other thing—that you didn’t mention.
He went still, then turned around. You mean putting thoughts into people’s minds.
Yes, that. Why didn’t you say something about it?
Even as she asked the question, she knew that he’d considered it a questionable skill. Like stealing.
I understand, she answered. But it might come in handy when someone is trying to kidnap you—or kill you.
Yeah.
When he returned with the laptop, she had an opportunity to admire him from the front. And although she did her best to keep her thoughts to herself, she knew he’d picked them up again.
As he slipped into bed beside her, she asked, “How do you keep from having everything in your mind like an open book?”
“You build a wall.”
“Like how?”
“With Sam, I used to picture a wall made out of metal plates. Let me show you.”
She saw the concentration on his face as he made the wall. Reaching for his hand, she held on tight as she tried to get into his mind and came up against the barrier. Maybe there was a way around it, but she didn’t find it as she searched.
You try it, he suggested.
She tried to do t
he same thing he had done, make a wall that would block out her thoughts. It was easy to picture the wall but not so easy to keep it in place.
I’d spend a lot of energy keeping it intact, she said, struggling with a sense of defeat.
Keep practicing, and you’ll get better. I hadn’t done it in years, and it came back to me.
She built fortresses in her head while he booted up his computer.
“You think there’s anything on the web after all these years?”
“We’ll find out.”
She moved beside him where she could see the screen, pulling the sheet up over her breasts.
He glanced at her and grinned. “I’ve seen them.”
She flushed. “I know, but I’m not as casual about walking around naked as you are.”
She knew from his thoughts that he planned to desensitize her—in the shower.
I should practice that wall thing, he answered.
She smiled and moved her shoulder against his. It would have been impossible for her to imagine this wonderful closeness with anyone. But Craig had changed her world.
Mine, too. When the computer finished its start-up routine, he went to Google, looking for information about the Solomon Clinic. At first they found nothing. Then he added Houma, and a startling newspaper entry came up.
“The explosion at a research laboratory owned by Dr. Douglas Solomon is under investigation. The facility was being used by Dr. Solomon for medical research. His body was found in the wreckage of the lab, along with Violet Goodell, who was the head nurse at the doctor’s former fertility clinic and also a close personal friend. She was active in charity work in Houma. Another body found in the wreckage was that of William Wellington, former head of the Howell Institute, a Washington think tank. According to anonymous sources in Houma, Wellington may have had a financial interest in the Solomon fertility clinic, but it is not known why he was at the research facility when it exploded.
The Solomon Clinic was in operation until the early nineties, when it burned to the ground in a fire that was believed to be the result of arson. There were no casualties.
Dr. Solomon was a native of Houma. His clinic drew patients from all over the U.S., but principally from Louisiana and neighboring states, and was instrumental in helping over two hundred women conceive. Although the clinic was known for charging high fees to wealthy clients, it also took less-well-off patients at greatly reduced fees. After the facility burned down, the doctor maintained a low profile, but his research facility is believed to have developed vaccines for several nationally prominent drug companies.”
Stephanie looked at Craig. “That article is interesting, as much for what it doesn’t say as for what it does.”
“Yeah.”
Craig went back to the search panel and looked up the doctor’s biography. He was a Yale graduate who had gone on to Harvard Medical School, then returned to his hometown to open his fertility clinic.
“I guess he was pretty smart,” Stephanie murmured. “I’d like to see his records from the fertility clinic, but they probably burned.”
“That may be the reason for the earlier fire—to get rid of the records.”
“Why?”
“It sounds like he was doing more than fertility treatments.” She looked from the computer screen to Craig. “We should go there.”
“Not until our skills are more solid.”
“Why?”
“I’m thinking we’re going to need them to defend ourselves.”
Stephanie shuddered, and she knew Craig had picked up on her thoughts as she felt him stroke his hand down her arm.
We just found each other—why can’t whoever it is just leave us alone?
Because there’s something important about the children from the clinic. And someone’s interested in what it is.
When Stephanie jolted, Craig didn’t have to ask what had leaped into her mind.
We both forgot we got that phone number.
You want to call it? He asked.
She considered the question. I don’t think that’s going to get us any information. And we’d just be revealing something about us.
Yeah. Forget calling.
Chapter Eleven
Harold Goddard slapped his fist against his left palm, but the physical gesture did nothing to relieve his anger.
He was used to working with professionals, and now he was finding out the pitfalls of relying on local talent.
The men he’d hired had had Stephanie Swift and Craig Branson in custody—and the incompetent asses had let the couple get away.
They’d compounded the mistake by waiting a couple of hours before reporting their failure.
“Tell me again what happened,” he said to Wayne Channing, the bald-headed man who had been recommended to him as the best there was if you needed an undercover job done in the Big Easy.
“Like you said, we looked for them at her father’s place and found them there. They were climbing out an upstairs window, and they dropped right into our laps. We took them to the van, with our holding her at gunpoint and his cooperating so she wouldn’t get hurt. We loaded them in the van and taped their hands and feet.”
“And then what?”
“Something happened. We was in the middle of traffic, and they got loose and got out the back door.”
“How did they get loose?”
“We don’t know.”
“Didn’t you restrain them securely?”
“We thought we did.”
“You thought?” Harold said in a calm voice when he wanted to scream.
“Somehow they got away.”
“Did you look at the tape?”
“No.”
“Bring me the tape. Well, leave it in a plastic bag next to the Dumpster at that shopping center where I wanted you to bring them.”
There was a moment’s hesitation before Channing said, “Yes, sir.”
“And how did they get the better of you at the B and B?” Harold asked.
“They spotted us, then made a tricky move. She acted like she didn’t see me, and he snuck up behind and brained me.”
Harold thought for a few minutes. He could yell at this guy. He could bring him in and kill him. But that would be counterproductive because he’d just have to find someone else to do the work.
“After you drop off the tape, I want you to go to Houma, Louisiana, and stake out a building in the business district.” He gave the address. “I expect they are going to show up there.”
He thought about what had apparently happened in the van and what he thought might be going on with the children who had been born as a result of their mothers’ treatments at the Solomon Clinic.
“When you catch them, make sure you separate them. I don’t want them touching each other. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Channing answered.
* * *
WE HAVE TO STRENGTHEN our powers, Craig said when they woke up the next morning, too late for breakfast.
How?
When Stephanie caught the suggestion forming in Craig’s mind, she gave him a doubtful look.
You don’t think that will be effective? Even if we’ve never done it before? he asked.
Before she could make any decisions on her own, he had her out of the bed and into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and let the water run hot before helping her into the tile enclosure where a rain shower sent a torrent down on her.
The heated water turned her skin slick and sensitive, and her whole body tightened as he pulled her close.
For long moments, he simply held her, the two of them standing together under the pounding spray.
From behind her, he began to run soap-slick hands over her back and shoulders. As they glided with a
total absence of resistance, they sent heat vibrating through her body.
He turned her in his arms and brought his mouth to hers for a heated kiss while he angled her upper body away from his so that he could stroke his hands over her breasts, turning her nipples into taut peaks of sensation.
She squeezed her eyes closed, focused only on Craig Branson and the sensations he was creating—and the thoughts pouring off him as he told her how much it meant to him to have found her, how much he wanted her, how much he loved her.
Love.
The word stunned her. She had never expected to love anyone. She hadn’t even loved her parents, she silently acknowledged, which was probably why she had let her father persuade her to marry the wrong man.
But everything had changed.
I love you, she answered him, sure it was true, even though she had known him such a short time. But what had happened between them had changed her life. Had changed everything.
He lowered his mouth to hers for a long, hungry kiss as his hand stroked down the length of her bare back, sending heat shooting through her as he caressed her bare bottom.
As his hands slid over her, wet heat pooled between her legs. She knew he felt it, felt it in his own body. And she felt the fullness of his erection, felt his need to join with her.
The need built, pulsing through her and through him in time to the wild beating of their hearts.
And she knew what he wanted her to do. Following his lead, she slicked her hand with soap and wrapped her fingers around his jutting erection, starting with a teasing stroke that drew a strangled breath from him. When she closed her fingers tightly around him, the breath turned into a moan.
Looking down, she grinned at the effect she had created. He’d been fully aroused when she’d started. Now he was impossibly hard.
She caught what he had in mind, and tried to do what he’d suggested before.
And suddenly the water stopped, leaving them standing in the shower, dripping.
You did that.
Yeah. And now I get my reward.
Leaning back against the side of the shower, he lifted her into his arms. She cried out as he filled her, holding her against himself as he turned on the water again with his mind so that it pounded down on them once more. His movement was restricted by his braced hips. But as he held her, she moved her body, the friction taking them to a high peak where the air was almost too thin to breathe.
