Dancing on the Wind (10 page)

flag in front of a bull. I remember thinking how much I hated him. The moment he

touched me something exploded inside and I went after him.” He snorted. “Surprised

the shit out of the old bastard. I’d never fought back before. If my mother hadn’t come

home and pulled me off him, I would have killed him that night.” He lifted his head.

“God knows I wanted to.”

“Did you change during the fight?”

He shook his head. “No, I ran out of the house, into the woods, and it happened

there. I don’t remember much about it except there was this ungodly pain and then a

bright flash of light. I woke up the next morning buck-naked in a pile of sopping-wet

leaves with the sound of dogs baying and heavy boots trampling toward me.”

“Your stepfather had called the authorities.”

“No, he didn’t. He was unconscious, stayed unconscious for nearly a week. I’d

beaten him so badly my mother had no choice but to take him to the military doctor on

the base where we lived. She didn’t want him to die and have me executed for his

murder. His general was the one who sent the soldiers after me. He wanted to see what

a thirteen-year-old boy who could do that much damage to one of his elite Spetsnaz

looked like.”

They reached the elevator and he punched the Up button. She noticed his hand

shook and he seemed suddenly edgy.

“You were sent to a detention camp.”

“Information courtesy of good old Matty Groves,” he mumbled. “It wasn’t a

detention camp. It was a secret research facility in Siberia.”

“The general found out what you were.”

45

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

His smile was brutal. “I don’t think he was prepared for what happened during his

interrogation. He couldn’t get me off his base fast enough. Some sinister-looking men

came in, shot me full of joy juice and when I woke up, I was in the frozen north.”

Despite his words she saw deep pain registering in his gaze and knew without

being told they’d done worse things to him in that place. He had been tortured.

The elevator arrived and the doors opened. He ushered her inside, seemed to

hesitate for a moment then joined her in the cage.

“You were there for seven years,” she said, turning around to face the door.

“Until I managed to escape. Ran as fast as I could to Moscow, infiltrated the

American Embassy. Pierced their security like it wasn’t there, asked for asylum then

showed ’em what I could do when they tried to throw me out. Once they saw what a

talented little freak I was, they invited me to stay. Snuck me out of the country and

brought me here. I wound up at the Exchange.” He shrugged, shifting from one foot to

the other. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

The elevator stopped, settled and the doors slid back. She preceded him out of the

cage. Since her room was one way and his the other, he stopped, took her arm to keep

her from leaving him.

“Pack enough for a week. We can always buy more up there if we need it. Bring

along warm, comfortable clothing and sturdy boots.”

She didn’t think he was aware he was running his thumb sensuously up and down

the inside of her arm just above the elbow.

“And don’t forget to cancel your date tonight with little Matty.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You know about that?”

“I know everything,
myneeast caillagh
.”
The glint in his eyes tightened along with

the hold he had on her arm. “I know I’m the only man you’ll be seeing from now on.”

“You think so?” she challenged, and found herself falling into the amber glow of his

gaze.

He pulled her to him and slanted his mouth recklessly across hers, claiming her

with a kiss that made her toes curl. When he pulled back, there was molten heat staring

back at her.

“I know so, baby,” he said. He released her and turned away, striding down the

corridor without a backward glance.

“Conceited prick,” she said, but the words were soft and spoken in a tone that

surprised her.

Shaking her head, she headed for her own apartment. Once inside, she leaned

against the door and put her fingers to her lips. Her flesh was tingling as though he’d

branded her.

She thought that might well have been what he’d done.

46

Dancing on the Wind

In the copilot seat, Keenan was mesmerized as she watched the shadow of the helo

undulating across the ground. They were cruising along at 133 knots with a perfect blue

sky above them and green farmlands stretching out like a crazy quilt below. They’d

been in the air about half an hour and she was more relaxed than she could ever

remembering being in a chopper. Her faith in Fallon’s abilities surprised her as she

relaxed as much as she could in the safety harness.

“So, tell me how you came to be with the Exchange.” His voice through the headset

was slightly lower than his normal tone.

Pulling her gaze from the scenery beneath them, she looked over at him. The dark

aviator glasses he was wearing made him look even more handsome and she felt a tight

little squeeze in her lower belly.

“I volunteered,” she said. “Took the tests and here I am.”

“Just like that?”

“I’d been thinking about it for nearly a year before I made the plunge, but yeah, just

like that.”

“You obviously didn’t know what you were getting into.”

“I knew,” she said. “The group I was with has a dossier on the Exchange.” She

turned to watch a flock of Canada geese winging their way through the sky. “I learned

about it through a case I was working. I felt I had abilities I could better utilize with the

Exchange than through the group I was with at that time.” She smoothed away a piece

of lint from her pant leg. “They didn’t like me using my woo-woo shit as they called it,

even though my partner was an empath, he didn’t have other psi powers.”

Fallon grinned then chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I wasn’t sure your woo-woo shit was gonna help me do my job either,” he replied.

“What about that partner you had? Were you close?”

She ducked her head. “We were lovers, but that’s all in the past. It ended badly.”

“How come?”

“We got into an argument once and he drew back his hand to hit me. I told him if

he let that fist fly, I’d emasculate him and I meant it. I can’t stand the sight of him now.”

“That’s good because now we’re bonded and stuck with one another.”

“About that…” she said, shifting in the seat so she could face him. “I’m not

comfortable with what you seem to think bonding means.”

He glanced at her. “What exactly do you think it means,
myneeast caillagh
?”

47

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

She frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Fallon.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me a conceited prick, but that seems to be your particular

endearment for me.”

Keenan sighed. She wasn’t going to debate him. “To me bonding means forming a

close relationship and…”

“Can’t get much closer than me being inside you, sweetness,” he reminded her.

She let that pass. “It means one partner caring for the other, having the other

partner’s back.”

“Physically, psychologically and professionally,” he amended.

“Well, yes. I suppose so.”

He cut his gaze over to her. “It also means developing a strong emotional

attachment.”

“All right,” she agreed. “I can accept that, but it doesn’t mean exclusivity.”

“Bonding is the psychic version of a marriage commitment, McCullough. You may

not want to acknowledge it yet, but that’s just the way it is.” He banked the chopper to

the coordinates that would take them into Canadian airspace. “And legally married or

not, I don’t share my woman with any man.”

She groaned. “Surely that’s not what you wanted.”

“It wasn’t, but then I didn’t have any plans of ever bonding with anyone,” he

admitted. “The choice was taken out of my hands.”

Keenan listened to him talking to air traffic control and slumped in her seat with

her arms folded over her chest. She had known she was to be assigned as an

Extension—an operative assigned to magnify, sharpen and augment the psi powers of

another operative with similar or complimenting abilities—when she’d signed on. She’d

been told that sex could act as an amplification of her powers and might be required

during the course of an assignment, but that hadn’t bothered her. She was no prude

when it came to sex and had enjoyed a satisfied, varied love life since graduating from

high school.

Although it had been months since her last sexual encounter, she hadn’t really

missed it. She had even stopped taking her birth control shots because she’d decided to

try celibacy for a while. After her fateful encounter with Fallon, she knew she’d have to

make an appointment with medical to get those shots started again.

“No, you don’t,” he said, interrupting her reverie. “I told you I can’t get you

pregnant.”

Defiantly she snapped her head toward him. “What if I want to screw somebody

else?”

“You can’t,” he said. “You won’t.” He shrugged without looking her way. “You’d

better not. I told you that already.”

Fuming, she ground her teeth together.

48

Dancing on the Wind

“Accept it,
myneeast caillagh
.” He smiled. “Personally, I’m starting to warm to the

idea.” At her stunned look, his smile widened. “Yeah, it surprises me too.”

“It’s not fair,” she said. “This wasn’t ever supposed to happen.”

“My feelings exactly, baby, but feces occurs.”

For the remainder of their trip into Canada, Keenan remained silent. She couldn’t

say he wasn’t her type because he was. Arrogance and ego aside, the man had

everything she’d always considered necessary in a lover. He was handsome, tall, dark-

haired and muscular. She strongly suspected there were deep, deep layers beneath the

ruddy complexion that would surprise her. Peeling them away to get to the creamy

center might take some doing, but chances were good the expedition would never be

boring. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she imagined he was assessing her

just as carefully.

“I am.”

“Stop reading my mind.”

“Stop broadcasting so loudly.”

She drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. Life with Mikhail Fallon was never

going to be ordinary.

* * * * *

The lodging into which the Supervisor’s personal assistant had booked them in

Duparquet was a quaint Northern Quebec cottage with its own private, secluded

lakefront and an area to land the chopper. It would be their base while they searched

that province for signs of
drochtáir
presence. They’d move on to Ontario once they were

satisfied there was no infestation in Quebec.

“All the comforts of home,” Fallon said as he surveyed the chalet-style cottage.

“Minus the need to pick up the clutter.”

Keenan liked the heavy oak furniture, overstuffed sofa, comfortable-looking chairs

in front of a tin-faced fireplace. The thick braided rug underfoot was lovely and the

gingham curtains at the windows added a touch of femininity to an otherwise

masculine room. Sticking her head in the lone bedroom, she was a bit disappointed to

see only one full-sized bed, but if need be, she could make the long sofa her retreat for

the night.

“You’ll sleep where you belong, baby,” he stated as he opened the fridge to inspect

the contents. He nodded—seeming to approve the selection inside—then closed the

door. “Beside me.”

“Fallon…” she started to protest, but he disappeared into what she thought must be

the bathroom.

“Beside me,” he said again as she heard the unmistakable sound of a toilet lid

hitting the back of the porcelain receptacle. A moment later, she heard him urinating.

49

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“At least you could close the damned door!” she called out to him. “And flush the

toilet this time.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” he mumbled.

The flushing noise made her smile as she sat down on the sofa and bent forward to

untie her thick-soled utility boots.

“What do you feel like for supper?” he asked when he returned. “They’ve provided

us with steaks, a bucket of chicken with a couple of sides and a big plate of veggies.”

“Chicken is fine.”

“Works for me too,” he said, and plopped down in one of the chairs. He shot out his

long legs, crossed them at the ankle and threaded his hands over his flat belly.

Keenan arched a brow. “Yes?”

He grinned. “You’re the domestic one, sweetie. Be domestic.”

She returned his grin, heaved herself up from the sofa and padded into the kitchen.

Fallon lowered his head to the back of the chair to look up at the exposed beams of

the ceiling. In the kitchen the microwave came on and then the delicious smell of

chicken heating wafted through the air. When she returned, he sat up and frowned.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Keenan resumed her seat, curled her legs beside her, and with the plate balanced on

the arm of the sofa, began to eat her supper. She picked up a chicken leg, bit into it and

chewed, grinning.

Fallon’s eyes narrowed and he uncrossed his legs, drew them in. “That’s just plain

mean, McCullough,” he said.

Her grin widened as she took another bite. “I’m not your maid, Fallon,” she told