Lunatic Fringe

by TL Schaefer

  My heart began to beat in double time. “Tonight,” I said, measuring my words, treading through a verbal minefield of my own making. “My daughter is safe, and we know I’m not crazy. And I kissed you back.”

  “That you did.” He poured a shot for each of us into a blue solo cup, handed mine over, then held his up, in toast. “Here’s to finding my batshit crazy sister and getting out of it alive. Because when we do, Monica, you and I are going to explore where this can go.” His simple words painted a picture, one of him propped over me, driving into me with strength and surety and blatant sexuality. Of him, on his knees before me, worshipping me with his mouth. Of both of us, exhausted and tangled together on silky sheets.

  I caught my breath as my nipples tightened beneath my tank. I didn’t have the power of premonition like Sara, but I was pretty sure I was going to like where this went. A lot.

  Heath’s eyes zeroed in on my breasts. He let out a harsh laugh, then tossed back his shot. I put mine aside and met his gaze. The desire there was sharp, hot, almost animalistic. Jesus.

  He stood, took one long step from the chair to the bed, and hauled me up into his arms. “Tell me to stop this, Monica, and I will.”

  I shook my head and went up on my tiptoes, my whole body tingling as our lips touched, and then he took over, just like he had this morning, setting my body aflame with pure sensuality.

  Everything about him burned, as if the heat was emanating from within. Oh shit.

  I broke away, looked at him in alarm, darting glances around the room to make sure he had control of his Talent.

  He laughed, and it was pure amusement. So was the full-fledged smile on his face. It was astonishing. And heartbreaking that I’d known him for over a decade and never seen it.

  “I’m fine, Monica. In full control.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And as much as I want to burn with you, here, tonight, we can’t.”

  “I won’t,” I corrected him. “My daughter is in the next room. My ex-husband across the hall. The idea is tempting, but...”

  He pulled me back against him tight, plundered my mouth until I was flooded with sensation, with an urgent longing that overcame lust.

  When we separated, both of us were breathing choppily. Again. Damn.

  “This is how it’s going to be for us, Monica,” he murmured against my mouth. “We’ll go somewhere private, where no one can hear us, no one can interrupt. Because what I’ve got in mind will require takeout. Lots of takeout. And privacy. Because you know what?” He tipped his forehead against mine, cupped my head, his thumbs feathering against my cheekbones. His expression turned teasing. “I’ll bet you’re noisy, and I can’t wait to bring that out in you.”

  My cheeks burned scarlet at his words. But he wasn’t wrong. I’d never been overly demonstrative with Joe, but it wasn’t like my ex had been my only partner before we got married.

  He pulled away, ran those oh-so-dangerous hands down my arms. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, the teasing man gone, replaced by pure sexuality. “Can we at least play while we’re stuck here?”

  I nodded, and he stepped to me again, twining his hands with mine, holding them at our sides as his mouth descended, now oh-so-slowly, until his lips barely grazed mine.

  Sparks shot between us, the air heating, and this time I knew the combustion was simply us, the chemistry between us, not his Talent, not mine.

  He mapped my lips, one exploratory nip at a time, and when I strained upward to meet him, to increase the pressure, he gripped my hands and held me in place. It was erotic as fuck and turned me on unbearably.

  “You say the word and I stop, Monica,” his words whispered against my ear as he feathered kisses along my cheek, my jawline, sending full-fledged shivers over me.

  I pressed against as much of him as I could, and when I answered, my voice trembled with desire. “Stop and I’ll kick you in the balls.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “That’s my girl. I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

  His words hit me squarely in the gut. I wasn’t his girl. Not yet, maybe not ever. But did I want to be?

  He raised his right hand, my left, and spread our fingers over my breast, over the nipple that strained for touch, for sensation. I groaned and thrust against the pressure, lust spearing through me in a continuous wave now.

  Then he dipped his head, bit my nipple through the fabric of the shirt, through my bra, and I arched against him, helpless to sensation, a captive to his touch in the here and now.

  His breath was hot against me, his fingers tangled with mine as we held my breast up to him like a feast. He raised his other hand, my other hand, and repeated the treatment, his mouth hot against me, his erection pressing against his jeans, against my stomach.

  And right then, I wanted nothing more than to lay down on the bed and bring him with me.

  But I didn’t. We didn’t. Instead we separated, our hands still joined, as if we were thinking with the same brain.

  Heath’s amazing ice-blue eyes were dark with passion, his lips wet, his own nipples pressing against his shirt.

  “You need to go to your room,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice. “I’m about two seconds away from breaking the boundaries I just set down.”

  He nodded, the motion choppy and slowly freed my hands, his eyes on mine the whole time, holding me hostage.

  “We’d better find Grace soon, otherwise I’m going to explode,” he said, and turned to the door. “I hope you’re ready for me, Monica. Because I’m sure as hell ready for you.”

  Then he was through the door. I sat on the bed, deflated like a balloon.

  Jesus, what had Heath Farrell just done to me?

  I’D LIKE TO SAY I SLEPT the sleep of angels, but no, that wasn’t happening. Not with me being as wound up as I was.

  After about an hour of tossing and turning, my breasts tender to the point of pain, my core throbbing with incompletion, I took matters into my own hands. Literally.

  My sex was still wet, still waiting for Heath to fill it. I’d never been as turned on as I had been this evening.

  I fingered myself, played with my nipples. Imagined it was Heath touching me, and I came hard, his name on my lips.

  Satisfaction and exhaustion claimed me, and when I awakened, dawn was beginning to break on the horizon.

  Today we’d end this. Today we’d find Grace. Today.

  KAVENAUGH SUMMONED me with a hard rap on the door. “Up and at ‘em, Foudy.”

  Fifteen minutes later I was sitting at the kitchen table of the little house, looking a bit worse for the wear, but having spent one of the most peaceful nights in recent memory. Huh. Maybe sexual tension and then release was what I’d needed.

  Heath settled in across from me, his eyes meeting mine unerringly. His expression stayed placid, like the Heath we all knew, but his eyes burned hot.

  I felt a flush roll through me, willed it away. Finding Grace had to be our number one priority. We both knew it and diverting ourselves with whatever was brewing between us could only be a distraction. But what a beautiful distraction it was.

  Jonah, Arin and Sara were still with the CASI kids, wherever they were. At least they were safe. O’Donnell showed up a few minutes later, wearing another zillion dollar suit and the same “you owe it to me to help” attitude.

  When Joe and Lawrence joined us, Kavenaugh got right to the point.

  “Trang woke up,” he said. “Still heavily sedated, but he remembers what happened. We wasted no time in letting him know Grace ditched him, but he still doesn’t believe it. Any ideas about how to flip him?”

  “Is he stable enough to move?” Heath’s voice was like Siberian tundra, cold and heartless. “We can take him to her estate, show him that she’s bailed.”

  “He’s burned over eighty-five percent of his body. Notwithstanding Monica’s healing, he’s not going anywhere any time soon.”

  I noticed that Kavenaugh left out the fact Heath had burned Trang. As my gaze shift
ed to Joe and Lawrence and O’Donnell, a bolt of understanding careened through me. Joe met my eyes, minutely shook his head. He hadn’t said anything to Lawrence.

  I could see Heath beginning to say something, likely to own up to Kavenaugh’s statement, given the hard twist to his mouth. I’d never thought I’d see the day Heath Farrell felt remorse, but it was staring me in the face.

  I kicked him, hard, under the table, then made a show of pretending I had a Charley horse. As the attention shifted to me, I could see the exact second Heath got it.

  O’Donnell knew what I could do, what Sara was capable of, same with Jonah. We’d all been on the books, likely for quite a while.

  No, we’d all keep mum about Heath’s power. I ran my gaze over each of my friends and saw the comprehension in every one of their faces.

  O’Donnell shifted in his chair and drew all of our eyes. “What do we really gain by getting inside his head? Grace has deserted him. There’s nothing he can really tell us, is there?”

  Huh. He had a point. Sort of. “He knows the why of her more than any of us, even you, O’Donnell. It might be worth at least trying. Is there anything he holds dear?” I looked to Heath, who shrugged.

  “In retrospect, I think I can say I knew Lloyd Trang even less than you did.”

  Valid point. I turned my attention to O’Donnell. His expression had turned smug, almost gloating. “Any thoughts?” As I asked the question, the truth slammed into me like a wrecking ball. “Holy shit. You knew Trang was Grace’s, that he was spying on Heath.”

  His jaw clenched, but he didn’t dispute my words nor did his expression change. Not one iota.

  Across the table I saw Heath flinch as if he’d been struck, then witnessed the rage building behind the bland mask I seemed to be seeing through more and more often.

  “Fuck you, O’Donnell.” Heath stood, Kavenaugh and Roney rising with him. I felt an odd sensation as I watched everything come full circle. Heath had distanced himself from everyone when we were working on finding Gordon. Everyone had taken a long step back. But now he’d proven himself to them again, and they were here to back him. Something shifted inside me, clicking like it had come home.

  “Get out,” Kavenaugh ordered. “We can’t help that you know where we are. But I’ll be damned if we help you, not now. You put countless people’s lives at risk before Grace went off the reservation. You knew who and what Trang was and allowed it to continue. You allowed Burke to murder with impunity. You allowed Gordon to set the Russians on a path of destruction. You and your fucking group are just as responsible for the lives lost as Grace and Trang.”

  “May I remind you—”

  Joe cut him off. “I may not know much about any of this, Warren, but I know you’re in the wrong here. You can’t railroad us.” He held up a hand when O’Donnell would have interrupted. “You seem to think you can threaten us with your power. But Dad and I have some significant contacts of our own. Farrell and Kavenaugh have connections within the NSA and FBI. You and your ten friends are quite simply outnumbered, and now that we know what we know, outgunned. And all it would take was one, just one, of our Talented friends posting something on YouTube, or livestreaming a demonstration, and keeping this quiet would be all over. I’m not quite sure what advantage there is to keep the Talented a secret, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out at some point. So just leave. Dad knows how to get in touch if we need you, or if we have anything to impart.”

  I almost stood to give my ex a standing ovation. He’d been freakin’ magnificent.

  O’Donnell stood, slowly, a pinched expression on his face. “This is a mistake.” He looked at each of us in turn. “But I can see there’s no changing your minds, not now.” He paused again, then continued. “The one piece we never covered was the danger posed to you by the Russians. Be assured they have all been accounted for. But I cannot guarantee Grace hasn’t homegrown other warriors. Have a care.” Then he was gone.

  We sat and stood in silence, then seemed to breathe out a collective breath.

  Lawrence looked basically bewildered, and I knew it was time for him to leave. Regardless—or perhaps because of—his relationship with O’Donnell, he was now a liability. From the look on Joe’s face, he realized it.

  “Dad,” he said quietly, “I think it’s time for you to head back to Dallas. It’s time for both of us to go,” he looked up at me. “And we’re taking Tori.”

  I sat up like I’d been shocked, my mouth open to deny his suggestion.

  “Monica, let me take her home. We’ll hire armed guards, our own damned army. I’ll keep her safe.”

  I wavered. He was right. But how safe was home?

  “I have a different option,” Heath said, settling back into his chair. “Lawrence returns to Dallas, and you, Joe, take Tori to where I’ve secured the rest of the kids. You’d be safer than you can even conceive. It will benefit both of you. If Tori is Talented, she’ll be around other children like her. If she’s not, she’ll use that knowledge to better understand her mother. As will you.”

  I slumped back in my chair, dumbfounded. That solution hadn’t even occurred to me.

  I waited for Lawrence to protest, but he looked tired, as if seeing O’Donnell here and realizing how small his actual world was had drained him, made him a decade older. Yeah, he’d go back to Dallas and Elizabeth without much complaint.

  I shifted my gaze to Joe next. He looked discomfited, but not entirely opposed to the idea.

  “He’s right, Joe,” I said, my voice scratchy and unsure to my own ears. I cleared my throat. “The thought of sending her away, even to a safe place, makes me feel like I’ve eaten glass. But right now, it’s likely the safest possible place she can be.”

  Joe nodded his head slowly. “This is a new world, and all of us need as much information as we can get.” He stood. “C’mon Dad, let’s get packed. I’ll bet we can get you back to Dallas in time for lunch with Mom.”

  He and Lawrence left, and with their departure it was as if a weight had lifted from my shoulders. My girl would be safe. Safe with Jonah. Safe with other kids like her. I knew she was Talented, or at least something special like Roney.

  We sat at the kitchen table for a few moments, mulling our own thoughts. I know I was wondering where we went from here, how we could possibly find Grace. From the looks on my friends’ faces, they were thinking the same thing.

  I sighed and pushed to my feet. “I still think it’s worth it to question Trang. He might be able to fill in some missing pieces. And we still need to look for the guy who grabbed us from the hotel. We haven’t really had a chance to do a composite yet, but we need to get his face on the street.”

  Kavenaugh excused himself to take a call as we began to come up with questions to ask Trang.

  Heath nodded. “I agree. We don’t have anything else to go on.”

  “We need to know how long he’s been under Grace’s influence,” Heath was calm. Too calm. He turned to me. “Monica, you’re the one who’s been dosed with Simple Simon more than any of us.”

  Nice of him to remind me of that. I raised my eyebrow and motioned for him to continue.

  “Is it possible that Trang was acting under Simple Simon’s compulsion? Not on his own? With the Russians, it took a long time to wear off. Could he have an implant like they did, giving him a slow dosage?”

  I nodded slowly. It was possible. And not something I’d looked for when healing him. Something about it rang wrong at the back of my skull, but I was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Especially since my daughter would soon be truly safe. We could figure out the rest as we went.

  Roney nodded in agreement. We needed to know. “Kavenaugh can have the doctors eyeball his admissions record, see if they noted it when he was brought in. If not, they can do an exam.”

  At least that gave us something to do in the short term. And maybe we’d actually get something good out of it.

  Heath shrugged a little, then excused himself to grab someth
ing from his room.

  Not thirty seconds after he walked away, his phone rang. Rang again.

  We all looked at each other, not quite willing to breach his privacy, but not willing to let it go either. Roney picked it up on the third ring.

  “Heath Farrell’s phone,” Roney said, “Detective Brian Roney speaking.”

  Even I could hear the silence at the end of the line. “Sergeant Roney?” Brian stood straight up, as if he’d been shocked.

  “Who is this?” he demanded. He shook his head slightly, then put the phone on speaker. An instant later I understood why.

  “Asa, Asa Dobbs. I’m looking for Mr. Farrell. I need to speak with him now.”

  I looked at Brian in shock. Dobbs’ voice was like a ghost from the past. A very distant past, when Brian had been pararescue and I’d been a cop. Spooky Dobbs had disappeared over a decade ago. And now he was here, live on the phone.

  Penny had said his name three days ago on the balcony of CASI and I hadn’t made the connection. How in the hell was Spooky Dobbs connected to Heath?

  Heath walked back into the room, saw his phone lying on the table and raised his eyebrows.

  “Airman Asa Dobbs is on the phone,” Brian said, his voice carefully neutral.

  Shit. I could see every bit of Brian’s newfound trust in Farrell swirling down the drain.

  Then Heath’s brow crunched in confusion. “Asa, hang on for a minute. Roney, how do you know Dobbs?”

  Asa answered the question, his voice older, but unmistakably Dobbs. “He was my NCO in Afghanistan.”

  Heath huffed out a laugh that sounded more frustrated than humorous. “Small fucking world, now isn’t it?”

  Brian’s face had turned contemplative. Heath hadn’t known Brian knew Dobbs, hadn’t known that I had instigated a personal inquiry into his disappearance all those years ago. Fate was one fickle bitch.

  Kavenaugh re-entered the room, an urgent look on his face. Heath held up a “wait a second” hand.

  “Mr. Farrell, something’s going down, and soon. I don’t see any danger to the CASI kids, but something’s coming that’s going to be a tragedy if it’s not stopped. Something really bad.”