Dancing on the Wind (15 page)

people of their hard-earned money,” Breslin scoffed.

“She came up on our radar just before I left the agency,” she answered. “What we

were hearing wasn’t good, but I had no idea she had resorted to having people killed.”

“Worse than killed, Kiki,” Breslin said softly. “Tortured and mutilated as a warning

to others. I’ve seen some of the bodies.” He shuddered. “It wasn’t pretty.”

“The rumored murders are only the tip of the iceberg with this Bolivar woman,” the

Supervisor injected. “Hundreds of thousands of dollars are lost every year by people

devoid of hope who buy into the promises these charlatans offer. Most of those conned

out of their money can ill afford to lose it. Many go into debt trying to come up with the

money necessary to pay these deceivers. We’re talking old folks, young couples with

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very ill children, husbands who are forced to watch their wives battling excruciating

cancers. These are the kind of people Bolivar preys on and I want it stopped.”

“But that’s what the agency we worked for was designed to do,” Keenan said,

glancing at Breslin. “I’m like Fallon—why is the Exchange getting involved in what is

essentially a con game?”

“Because she has something,” Breslin said. “Some
thing
she sends after these

people. It isn’t human. It couldn’t be. The corpses I saw could not have been brutalized

in the manner they were by anything human. They were literally torn apart, organs

pulled out, heads twisted completely around.”

“What kind of
thing
are you talking about?” Fallon challenged.

“The savage kind,” Breslin stated.

“The kind of thing I usually send you to take out,” the Supervisor added. “The kind

of thing the average Joe doesn’t know exists in our world.”

“And slap-happy boy here is supposed to train me how to do that?” Fallon scoffed

with a snort. “Gimme a break.”

“No, Agent Breslin is here to train our operatives in the techniques Bolivar and her

Sensitives are using to bamboozle the unsuspecting. We want to infiltrate her

organization with our own people and at the right moment put a stop to this nefarious

business of hers, shut her down and bring her to justice, find out what she’s using to

commit those murders and eliminate it. Agent McCullough, with your talents you

should have no trouble convincing her to hire you as a Sensitive. Your objective is to

become her number one healer.” The Supervisor turned to Fallon. “Finding the entity

she’s controlling and destroying it is your assignment. In order to do that, getting close

to Bolivar is the first order of business. We want you closer to her than glue on a book

binding. We need her to rely on you completely.”

“She likes her men tall, dark and hands-on,” Breslin stated. “You should do all

right.”

“If I remember correctly, she has a huge security force and never travels without

being surrounded by four personal bodyguards,” Keenan said.

“Her Protectors,” Breslin supplied.

“If Fallon can convince her he’s the next best thing to sliced bread when it comes to

security…”

“I
am
the next best thing to sliced bread,
myneeast caillagh
,” Fallon said with a leer.

“Little witch, eh?” Breslin questioned with an arched brow. “How quaint.”

Fallon gave the other man a narrowed look. “Not as quaint as Kiki.
Ta Gaelg eu

myrgeddin
?”
You also speak Manx?

“
Cadjoor rish Dooinney loayrt rish y gheay
,” Breslin replied.
Like a man talking to the

wind.

Fallon grunted disdainfully.

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The Supervisor leaned back in his chair. “You three will need to work together to

set this up. Fallon, you know the best operatives so pick six you think will do—three

men and three women, preferably among those who have Extensions. They need to

have strong psi powers and impenetrable mind shields.”

“There are only three who fit that bill—two men and one woman. Mind shielding is

not as easy as it sounds,” Fallon replied. He put a hand to his temple, knowing Breslin

was trying to slip past his guards. He gave the new man a nasty scowl but Breslin

merely grinned.

“Three would be enough. If we flood Bolivar with too many candidates, she’ll know

something is up,” Breslin suggested.

“He’s right,” Keenan agreed. “And we can’t introduce those three too closely

together.”

“They’ve got to be trained anyway,” Breslin reminded her. “Psychic surgery is

nothing more than sleight of hand, but in order to do it effectively, you have to be

damned good at it. I can teach them that along with the customary rhetoric that goes

with the faith healing.” He locked gazes with Keenan. “I’m looking forward to working

with you again.”

Keenan pursed her lips but said nothing. Fallon ground his teeth and also refrained

from commenting. They glanced at one another, and the look that passed between them

said everything either needed to say to the other.

“We’ll start first thing in the morning and you’ll leave for Georgia next Tuesday,

Fallon,” the Supervisor said. “Agent Breslin will be setting up what he needs to teach

the operatives and I’ll contact the agents you think can handle the assignment.”

Fallon nodded. “Roursch, Eddings and Lanier,” he supplied. “As far as I know,

they are all here unless you’ve sent them on assignments within the last few days.”

“No, I haven’t.” The Supervisor switched his attention to Keenan. “I want Fallon

well in place before you come on the scene, so we won’t be sending you down to

Georgia for a couple of weeks. For now, I need you to go to Procurement and have them

supply you with some down-home-type dresses made from calico and gingham.

Something shapeless and old-fashioned. You will also need worn-down shoes,

stockings that have seen better days and some raggedy undergarments.”

“Like a girl from the hills of Kentucky would wear,” Breslin put in.

“That’s my cover? A girl from Butcher Hollow?” she inquired, brows elevated.

“We’ve chosen a really out-of-the-way place called Regis Cove and your new name

is Tandy Lynch,” the Supervisor told her. “If Bolivar does any checking, she’ll find your

family’s been at the Cove for generations and that the good people up there have

nothing but wondrous things to say about little Tandy and the miracles she wielded.

“Tandy is fey and she has the healing touch. She’s very shy and easily led by her

older brother Nathan, who is a real scoundrel. He’s always run off any potential

boyfriends up at the Cove so she’s still a virgin. He’s looking for the right man to hand

her over to. Seeing a way to make money with her God-given gift, he’s brought her

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Dancing on the Wind

down out of the mountains and will be offering her services to Bolivar—for a price of

course. She’s terrified of Nathan and looks to him before she ever opens her mouth.

We’ll need to find an agent to…”

“I would be happy to play the part of Keenan’s dastardly brother,” Breslin said.

Keenan looked at Fallon. “I don’t know. I thought you weren’t going to be out in

the field, Zack.”

“I think he’ll fit the bill perfectly,” Fallon surprised the others by saying. “Bring him

on. I think he and I will play real well together.”

“What will the relationship be between Tandy and Fallon?” Keenan asked, chewing

on her lip. The idea of Fallon and Breslin at each other’s throats sent chills down her

spine. “Surely a man like him would frighten an innocent girl like her.”

The Supervisor actually smiled, something he rarely did. “She’s so starved for

affection, ripe, a moonstruck romantic at heart, so when she meets Fallon, she will take

to him like a pig to slop.”

“Delightful imagery,” Keenan mumbled.

“
Lhiannan
, I’ll let you wallow on me all you want,” Fallon teased.

“This isn’t a joke,” Breslin snapped, eyes flashing. “Bolivar is cheating people,

bilking them of money they need to exist on, destroying them financially or murdering

them, and she needs her ass kicked back into yesterday!”

“And she’ll get it handed to her on a silver platter,” Keenan said. “So don’t go all

high and mighty on us, Zack. We know how to do our jobs.”

Breslin’s upper lip quirked as though he had reservations but he didn’t argue the

point. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, he marched across the room and exited, shutting the door just a bit too

forcefully behind him. Before either the Supervisor or Keenan could stop him, Fallon

was out of his chair and jerking open the door, leaving it wide in his wake.

“I should go after him and…” Keenan began as she pushed from her chair.

“Which one?” the Supervisor inquired.

“Fallon,” she replied.

The Supervisor shook his head. “No. You should let them work it out between

them,” he insisted.

“But…”

“I said no.” The denial was firm and brooked no argument. “You’ve got your

assignment so I suggest you stop at Procurement, get your wardrobe together—and be

sure to tell them to provide you with a battered cardboard suitcase—then make a stop

at the Library to learn what you can about Regis Cove and the people who live there.”

“Yes sir, but…”

“And do it now, Agent McCullough,” the Supervisor interrupted. “Without the

benefit of any side trips to see how those two men are handling their differences.”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Keenan did as she was ordered, though her mind was not on her assignment but

the mayhem she feared was about to erupt.

As Keenan made her way to Procurement, Fallon caught up with Breslin and

snaked out a hand to grab the other man by the collar, jerking him around and

slamming him against the corridor wall. Before Breslin could react, Fallon had his

forearm pressed brutally across Breslin’s throat and his well-honed body jammed

against his opponent.

“You so much as look like you’re going to raise your hand to her and I promise you

I’ll break that sucker off at the root and shove it so far up your ass you’ll be able to

brush your teeth from the inside,” Fallon snarled, his lips drew back, eyes pinpoints of

red light. “Do you understand?”

Breslin tried to push out of the hold but stilled as Fallon leaned in even harder,

fangs erupting.

“Do. You. Understand?” Fallon asked, stressing each word with a fierce growl.

Slowly the other man nodded. He was staring wide-eyed at the glistening fangs and

beginning to tremble. Fear rolled off him with a musky stench that caused Fallon’s

nostrils to quiver.

“Did you soil yourself, human?” he queried. He pressed his arm more firmly on

Breslin’s windpipe.

“N-No,” Breslin croaked, trying to swallow.

Fallon held him for just a heartbeat longer then stepped back, giving Keenan’s ex-

partner a disdainful snort before pivoting on his heel and stalking off, not even

bothering to look back as Breslin slumped down the wall to hunker on the floor.

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Dancing on the Wind

It had been a long day for Keenan and she was drained, her feet dragging as she

made her way to the monorail platform. Far too much information had been crowded

into her head in a short period of time and had settled there to throb brutally between

her temples. Absently, she put a hand up to rub at the pain.

“It can’t be that bad.”

She looked around to find Matty Groves falling into step beside her.

“Oh yes it can,” she replied tiredly.

“I heard about the assignment and the preparations for it. How ’bout letting me

take you to supper this evening before you start tackling anything more? You can relax,

unwind.” He shrugged. “You gotta eat anyway.”

Keenan hesitated. Fallon had warned her away from Matty, but Fallon was busy

doing something the Supervisor had assigned him and wouldn’t be back until after ten

that evening. She hated eating alone, but the thought of Fallon getting possessive and

quarrelsome made her leery.

“Afraid of the big bad hound?” Matty asked, halting his steps.

There was something almost insulting in the way he asked. “No,” she replied

defensively as she too stopped walking.

“Then you must be afraid of pissing off the hound,” he countered, folding his arms

across his chest.

“I’m not,” she stated then raised her chin. “Give me half an hour to shower and

change, and I’ll meet you at the monorail.”

Matty smiled. “All righty then. I’ll be waiting.”

She watched him turn back toward the administrative building and took a deep

breath. With every step she took toward her quarters, she worried that she had made a

huge mistake by accepting Matty’s supper invitation.

“He’s giving you the old possessive Reaper shit, huh?” Matty asked as they dove

into their salads.

“You could say that,” she muttered.

“Don’t let him snow you, Keenan. He’s not a lupine Reaper. He’s a canine Reaper

and they are a whole other can of worms.” He laughed at his own words and speared a

black olive.

“In what way?”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Matty chewed around a wide grin, swallowed then picked up his napkin to wipe